Isn't The Murder That Kills You, It's The Therapy
by dragonnan
Summary: Continuation of I Asked To Go To Dinner, And You Thought I Said Torture CROSSOVER! Shawn must face his ordeal but something happens that he didn't expect.
1. Loved The Ride, Hate The Destination

It really was a nice office.

Set in warm tones and accented tastefully with neatly arranged soft chairs and couch, a short coffee table, and a well stocked book case; the room invited relaxation.

He still didn't want to go in.

It had only taken two visits to the other shrink for them to send him to a different office… five hours away.

His previous therapist had only shook his head in bafflement when he discovered that Shawn and his father were still on speaking terms. What was worse, Shawn had basically been forced to continue, with the threat that the Chief wouldn't give him any more cases until he did. She even worked it out so that the city would pay for his stay in temporary housing- five hours being a bit of a long drive each way. Even given that he'd be doing his sessions back to back, save for weekends, it was going to be a long two weeks.

He didn't even get a female therapist, either time. The fact that this guy came extremely well recommended did nothing to make up for that.

Squaring his jaw, he allowed the door to close behind him. As soon as the office was enclosed, all he could hear was a soft whooshing from the white noise machine on the floor. Without even trying, his eyes saw everything, giant picture windows, the potted plants, the collection of pictures including several of a teenage boy, obviously the man's son… hmm… now that was interesting…

"Why not come all the way in?"

The mild voice came from the man seated in the left of two chairs by the tall windows. Shawn smiled. "Nice digs! Really, I'm getting warm fuzzies just standing here!"

The therapist smiled. "Would you like to sit down? These chairs are quite comfortable, or so I've been told."

Shawn stuffed his hands in his pockets, striding across the room to drop in the chair. Wow, it was comfy! He might have get one like this for the office!

He bounced a little, testing the springs as he looked around some more. He noticed that the small objects on the desk were lined up perfectly… as were the nick-knacks on the top of the desk in the corner. Compulsive much?

The man across from him crossed his legs.

"You seem very interested in my office."

Shawn jerked his eyes back to the shrink guiltily.

Oops.

Clasping his hands together over his knees, he fixed his face in a loose smile. "Where did you get those throw pillows? My business partner keeps telling me we need to jazz up the waiting room… at our _psychic detective agency_." He said, exaggerating the last part slowly.

"I'll get you the name of my decorator. Now, why not tell me what brings you here?"

Damn, the last therapist he'd told that to had immediately asked him if he really thought he could talk to spirits. A few 'intuitive' observations later and the psychiatrist was left in complete befuddlement. Unfortunately, it backfired- and now he was stuck here.

Leaning back in his chair, he examined the man across from him. His blondish-grey hair was close-cropped and thinning at the top; the lines on his face placing him somewhere in his late forties. His sharp blue eyes showed intelligence and compassion, and his gaze never wavered from Shawn once.

Okay, so the guy was a challenge. No matter, he had a lot of practice with challenges. Hello, Henry Spencer anyone?

Rolling his head to crack his neck, Shawn copied the posture of the man across from him- an eye twitch the only hint there was any pain left in his side. They studied each other for about two minutes. Finally Shawn spoke. "So, what. Should I start with my childhood?"

"Do you want to talk about your childhood?"

Shawn frowned. "No."

The minute hand clicked down a few more lines. The white noise machine hummed softly. Shawn wondered if he could take this guy in a staring contest. He decided to try.

"Why not start by telling me about your friend Mr. Guster."

Shawn blinked.

Damn it!!

Jutting out his jaw, he decided Gus was a fairly safe topic… as long as he didn't mention Mexico.

He exhaled, trying to decide the best place to start. Well, logically, that would be the beginning he supposed. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, letting his back relax against the seat cushion, and sent his mind to the past. "Gus and I met when we were five. His family moved in down the block, right around the time I was turning six. My mom wanted to make sure his family felt welcome in the neighborhood, so she invited them to my birthday party. As it turned out, he was the only one that came. Dad hadn't made a lot of friends amongst his neighbors… feeling the need to pass out parking tickets like free samples of Tide." He shook his head ruefully. "My dad was a hero among the meter maids." Leaning his chin on his palm, Shawn examined the foliage outside the window, appreciating the carefully landscaped plaza filled with trees and an elegant waterfall. "Somehow, though, dad wasn't able to scare off Gus's parents."

The therapist shifted a little, draping his fingers over his knee. "So you could almost say you've been friends your whole lives."

Shawn smiled introspectively. "I suppose so. I almost don't remember what it was like before I met him." He chewed the tip of his thumb, furrowing his brow. "I can't imagine what it'd be like without him…"

The waterfall fell gently, splashing and trickling over the rocks. It was really quite soothing. He should think about getting a small waterfall for the office… he was sure Gus would appreciate it…

After a while, Shawn continued. "Gus was at my house almost every day growing up. We had so many overnights that it felt strange when he wasn't around. Dad basically started treating him like an extra son- taking him along for train… uh… campouts, fishing, whatever." Shawn scratched his head. "No matter what… I could always count on him."

His voice trailed away. With his memory, he was easily able to call up the days of his childhood like he was watching a made for TV movie. With just a little effort, he could even pull out finer details… like exactly how many times Gus swore when he lost to him at Battleship, or how long they'd sat in that tree when they'd been chased by old lady Wunderschmidt's basset hound.

Gus never really cared for dogs much after that.

When he thought about it, the most trouble he ever got in involved Gus by his side. He was pretty sure he'd have been a model child otherwise.

Dragging his mind back to the present, he studied his nails, noting that his cuticles were rough. He flexed his hands and draped them over the edge of his seat.

"When mom and dad split up, I spent about two weeks straight at Gus's. His dad had bought them a Nintendo, and we must have played Pitfall about four thousand times. Naturally we had to try that out for real… Gus claims that that his kidneys were never the same after that. But seriously, it was only ten feet- and it wasn't like there wasn't water at the bottom."

He chuckled, bringing up his knuckles to rest them against his cheek. "I also couldn't get sick without getting Gus sick too… usually on purpose. But really, he only had himself to blame. If he didn't want the flu he should have run faster. Besides, I owed him for giving me the chicken pox. He'll still say it was for my own good, saying he read that getting them at a younger age was better than waiting till you're older. And this was coming from an eight year old. You know, I really wasn't at all surprised that he became a pharmaceuticals salesman."

There was a short span of silence again. Shawn drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He was lost in thought when the therapist spoke again.

"You mentioned earlier, that your father's relationship with his neighbors interfered with your birthday."

Shawn shrugged. "He had his priorities." Clasping his elbows tightly, he looked out the window again. Nodding at the greenery, he suddenly tilted his head. "What kind of trees are those anyhow? Gus is like this crazy, plant expert… which can come in handy on cases sometimes… but don't tell him I said that. Actually, you can't anyhow- patient privilege or whatever…"

"I can see this subject is uncomfortable for you. However, like you said, no one else will ever have to hear about it. Think of me as your personal sounding board."

Fingers drummed restlessly again. He started to chew his nails, but stopped himself immediately. No way was he gonna take up THAT habit. Instead, he jogged his leg up and down rapidly as he glanced at the clock again. Ten minutes. He could handle ten minutes…

The other man laced his fingers together.

"That's the second time you've looked at the clock. Listen, Shawn, I can't force you into saying anything you don't want to. I can't tell you what to talk about, or what you should even feel. I can tell you're a very private person, in spite of the persona you show to the world. You'd like to think you can brush this to the side and continue on just like before. And maybe you can. I know that there are many people who just… bottle away their hurts, their anxieties, and their frustrations… But by cutting off those parts… you almost always cut away parts that make you complete." He sat up, leaning forward intently. "Look, it's two weeks. You get through that, and you fulfill the basic requirements to get back to work. And if, in the process, you find something to talk about… I'll be here to listen."

The therapist leaned back and checked his watch. "There's about eight minutes before my next patient is scheduled to be here… we still have time if you want to tell me more about Gus, your father, or whatever else you'd like."

Shawn rocked his ankle back and forth. He didn't like sitting for so long without some kind of activity to distract him. Now, if there was a Gameboy in the room…

Hardly aware of it, he bit his thumbnail. The agitated part of him recognized what he'd ultimately need to discuss if he wanted to really finish these sessions. That part of just wanted to run through it, beginning to end, and just get it over with. The other part of him, the part that- irritatingly- spoke with his father's distinct inflection, insisted on patience.

And as much as he wanted to take the, sorta, easy way… he found himself listening to his father. Maybe he belonged in this office after all.

"Well, you survived your first visit."

Shawn looked up, startled. He hadn't realized how long he'd been musing to himself. Smiling lopsidedly, he nodded to the shrink. "I've got a high tolerance for unpleasant conversations."

Standing together, Shawn accepted the hand held out to him. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

The other man nodded, smiling gently. "I look forward to it."

0o0o0o0

Shawn rubbed his eyes as he stepped out into the waiting room. It was disorienting being in that office… like he was in a private little world, cut off from the rest of the universe. In addition to that, the shrink had a voice like the teacher from Ferris Bueller…

He frowned. And yet, despite his best efforts, he'd found himself talking like a girl at a high school sleepover. He lowered his brows. Did girls still have sleepovers in high school? He shook his head, yawning. At any rate, his very next stop needed to be the nearest coffee shop.

He was just opening the door leading to the hall when he heard voices approaching.

"…derstand why I had to change my schedule!"

"Look, we talked about this… it's a special situation. Besides, it's just for a couple of weeks… and then you'll get your old schedule back."

Two people rounded the corner ahead of him. The first was the man he'd heard complaining. He was only a little taller than Shawn, his hair dark, and tightly curled. He looked like he was around fifty, and he was twisting his hands in agitation. The other person was a woman… a very cute woman, her hair pulled up in a loose ponytail. He took a moment to appreciate her looks, noticing the way she held the other man's arm tightly. She seemed to almost be leading him along. About this time, they both looked up and saw Shawn in the doorway.

He smiled brightly, waving a hand. "Hi, Shawn Spencer. You know, I feel as though I've met you before…" He lowered his voice to a hush, staring at the woman. "Tell me, have you ever worked as an entertainer for Pacific Emerald Cruise Lines?"

The woman raised her brows, eyeing him skeptically. "Not that I recall… Let me guess, you were the Captain."

He grinned, rocking back on his heels. "Ooo, close. Actually, I was the Resident Aquatic Safety Supervisor."

"A lifeguard?"

He shrugged. "I guess… if you want to restrict yourself to layman's terms."

While they spoke, the other man seemed to be grinding his teeth in irritation. Finally he interrupted agitatedly. "What are you doing- we have a deadline to keep- This isn't social time!"

Shawn held up his hands. "Oh, hey… I'm sorry…" He blinked. "Oh right, you're the next patient…"

The man stared at him, his eyes suddenly livid.

"It's you!"

Shawn blinked, looking over his shoulder and back again. "I'm… I'm sorry?"

"It's you… you're the usurper!" Said the man angrily. Shawn half chuckled catching the look on the woman's face. She was rubbing her forehead.

"Oh come on… you think I stole your slot?" He asked, pressing his hands against his chest. The man clenched his hands.

"Usurper…" He said menacingly.

The woman grabbed his arm. "Mr. Monk, we really should get inside… come on, I'm sure Dr. Kroger wouldn't want you to be late." She turned to Shawn, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm sorry…"

He smiled. "No problem. Maybe next time we meet you'll tell me your name."

As she pushed through the door, she smiled in response. "Natalie… Natalie Teeger."

Her companion rolled his eyes. "Natalie, let's go! I'm supposed to talk about my dad today and I need a pre-session run-through."

The door closed slowly on its pneumonic hinge.

Shawn stood there a few seconds longer, staring at the door. Now what were the odds of that? Finally, shaking his head, he headed for the elevator.


	2. 2

Day three.

He really… really missed his apartment.

Granted, he hadn't expected the Chief to spring for a condo or anything… but the place didn't even have a pool out back. And this was California- even doghouses came with pools! Whatever… at least his bed was moderately comfortable… not that he slept in it much. Personally, he was going to treat this as much like a vacation as possible. Last night, he'd stayed out till about three; cruising around town in the little brown rental car. He realized he missed his bike too. He wanted nothing more than to test its handling down Lombard street...

"Shawn?"

He looked up quizzically, realizing he'd drifted off again. What was it about this office? Usually he was quite comfortable chatting enthusiastically… what his mom called 'topic gymnastics'… and Gus simply labeled 'monkey on meth'. But in this hushed room…

He purposely kept his eyes off the clock- a feat for which he was quite proud- and absently picked up one of the figurines sitting on the coffee table. Rolling it between his palms, he found his eyes dragged back to the greenery outside. It was less vibrant than the previous days here, due to the overcast sky above. Though, it could pour down rain and it wouldn't affect his mood in the slightest. Rain could have some definite advantages… especially considering how a lot of the women in this state tended to dress…

"Shawn, you were telling me about when you were eighteen… when you were arrested by your father…"

He set the figure down again, dropping heavily into the chair.

"Yeah…"

He scratched at his cheek, realizing the stubble there was longer than he normally liked it. Time for a light trim… he wasn't a savage after all…

Catching the eyes of Dr. Kroger, he dropped his hand. "Well, dad… You could say he has a slightly, unhealthy, obsession with procedure…"

The doctor listened mildly while he shared his tale. Even with a liberal sprinkling of humor and charming wit, he couldn't hide the humiliation he'd felt when his own father slapped on the cuffs… right in front of the girl he'd been trying to impress. Oh, and heaven forbid his father pass up the opportunity to lecture the girl about accepting rides from people with questionable motives. His ears still burned at the memory of the impromptu sex education lesson in the parking lot of "Mabel's Olde Home Chow".

When he finished, he found he'd been unconsciously rubbing at his side. He pulled his hand away self-consciously. "Mom actually ended up posting my bail. Boy did she lay into him for that…" He smiled at the memory. "She almost always took my side… which was a good balance."

He pivoted in the chair so that his legs dangled over the arm. "Anyway, it was about then that I decided to do some traveling. I'd seen a few ads on TV about the cruise industry…"

He managed to use up the rest of the time talking about some of the jobs he'd had. He got as far as the Weinermobile before noting, gratefully, that his time was up. Considering he'd only gotten through about a quarter of his work history, he figured he could burn up two more sessions easy just talking about employment.

Slipping quickly from the chair, waving nonchalantly, he hit the door… and almost ran over the man on the other side.

"Oh, sorry… Addy-man!!!" He declared happily.

Adrian Monk glared at him, shifting his shoulders. "Actually, my name is Adrian… Adrian Monk. It's been that my whole life… you can ask anyone." He looked over his shoulder at his assistant. "Natalie will back me up won't you Natalie?"

When she tilted her head wearily, Adrian leaned towards her with a harsh whisper. "Come on, back me up!"

She looked at Shawn, forcing a bright smile. "He's right- I've never heard him called anything else."

Adrian, smiling in vindication, turned back to Shawn and spread his arms. "See?"

Shawn stuffed his hands in his pockets. "How about Ads?"

Adrian blinked, processing the name. "What… is that like, a nick name?" He held his arms stiffly at his sides, his fingers twitching. "I think I already have a nick name."

Shawn raised his brows. "Yeah?"

Adrian nodded. "Yes, yes it's Adrian. Adrian Monk."

Shawn grinned, finally having mercy and allowing the other man to brush past him into the office.

Once the door shut behind him, he looked up to see Natalie pulling out her cell phone and heading for the door. Jogging to catch up, he fell in step beside her as she started to dial. "You have lunch yet?" He asked as she put the phone against her ear.

"What… no, no…. hang on…" She held up one finger distractedly. Shawn nudged the outside door open with his shoulder, holding it while Natalie walked through. Letting the door close, he followed her down the sidewalk. She placed a hand over the phone briefly to whisper "My daughter", before continuing on.

As they walked, Shawn noticed her purse was open slightly. Unable to resist snooping, he saw a set of keys, slightly worn and scratched…old. Her billfold was also old, but well maintained. A tube of chapstick, two packages of hand-wipes, and a detailed grocery list with several items underlined rounded out the contents. He smiled.

Natalie groaned wearily. "No, I don't have time… well because I need to run some errands and I only have an hour before I have to be back to pick up Mr. Monk…" Her face was agitated, and she closed her eyes briefly, placing her free hand on the back of her head. Shawn gave her a little space as she stopped by her car. "I know… I know I promised… Look, I'll make it up to you, just let me…" her face suddenly fell, and she pulled the phone away from her ear to stare at it accusingly. "She hung up on me!"

Shawn looked on with practiced compassion. Suddenly, he inhaled sharply, placing two fingers against his temple while holding out a shaking left hand. "Teenage girl… she… today's her birthday… she thinks you forgot… But you've been planning this… you're giving her a surprise party… balloons, streamers…" he wiggled his fingers, squeezing his eyes tight, "…aaaaaA COPY OF PRIDE AND PREJUDICE!" He opened his eyes and blinked, confused. "She wants a book for her birthday?"

Natalie gaped, "She's going through a classic phase… how did you…?"

He tipped back his head, clasping his hands in front of him and speaking airily. "I… sense things. I'm actually a psychic… I can't always control where I'll be led, but sometimes, the spirits lead me to souls that are… calling…"

She snorted. "Right… okay. Well, while you and the spirits chat, I need to get going."

Shawn held out his hand as she attempted to brush past him. "Wait… I feel you… you are rushed… you feel the ticking clock weighing you down like… a ticking clock…"

She held up her phone, rocking it back and forth in her fingers. "Perceptive. Listen, I know you possibly might mean well- and granted, you've got a good act, but I work with a guy that does this all the time. Just not so dramatic… more like… strange actually…" She shook her head. "Anyway, I don't mean to brush you off, you're cute, but I'm going to be late getting back here as it is, and Mr. Monk does not handle waiting well."

She pulled out her keys and unlocked her door. Pulling it open, she tossed in her purse. Just before she slid in, Shawn jerked like someone had grabbed his shoulders.

"Wait… what's, what's happening… something's happening…" His right arm twisted behind his back as he threw his body against her car. "Spirits, what do you want…! Aaaaahhgggghhh!!" Pulling his arm free, he slammed his back against the car, panting heavily. Finally, he pulled himself back around and gulped. "The spirits… they want me to help you out… they told me to… to drive Mr. Monk home for you…"

This time, her face showed real shock. "They told you to what?"

He shook his head. "I know… they can be so demanding sometimes." He pulled down his shirt, which had become twisted during his 'episode'.

Natalie stared at him, conflicted. "I don't know… I don't really know you… and you also seem a little psychotic…"

Shawn smiled. "No worries… I have credentials!" He reached into his pocket and grabbed his billfold. He flipped past his video rental card, Grubers Polish Sausage frequent diner's coupon, and a single souvenir paper baht, until he found a small stack of business cards. Pulling one free from the collection, he passed it over.

"Shawn Spencer, Psych. We put the normal in paranormal." She raised her brows. "And this is supposed to make me feel comfortable around you?"

He held out another business card. "I also work regularly with the Santa Barbara police department. That's Chief Vick, a close personal friend. She can totally vouch for me!"

She studied the second card. "How do I know you didn't just steal this?"

He let his arms fall, dropping his head to the side. "Yes, I stole it, because there's such a high demand for business cards on the black market. Look, just give her a call!"

If asked why he was being so adamant about this, he'd have said it was because he wanted to impress what he thought was a very pretty woman. But in reality… he was lonely. And so far, these were the only two people, besides the shrink, that he'd seen on a regular basis. Sure, they were odd… but really, that was sorta what drew him to them to begin with. Besides, if she said no, he could always go hang out by the pier.

"Okay."

He looked up sharply. "I'm sorry- what?"

She held up his card. "I said okay. I'll call you later with directions. Is this number your cell?"

Still blinking in surprise, he nodded. "Uh, the second one is."

She slid into the car. "I'm still calling this Chief Vick too though- so if she doesn't check out…"

Still a little dumbfounded at what he'd just agreed to, he waved. "Not a problem, the Chief loves me!"

She gave him one more glance, then started the car and pulled away from the curb. Shawn let his arm drop as she merged into traffic. Sticking his hands back in his pockets, he bounced a little on his heels. It was a little after eleven fifteen… plenty of time to grab some lunch before heading back to the office. He was pretty sure he'd seen a taco place down the other block, so, turning around, he pointed himself towards the call of quesadillas.

0o0o0o0

Thirty seven minutes later, Shawn stepped back into the therapist's waiting room. He took a large sip from the soda cup in his hand, grabbed a magazine from the tall shelf against the wall, and settled himself comfortably in one of the padded chairs in the corner.

Four seconds later, thoroughly bored with the two-month old issue of Popular Mechanics, he tossed the publication on a short table and stood.

Walking around the room, straw wedged in his teeth, he abruptly grabbed his phone. Hitting speed dial one, he waited through eight rings before a distracted voice answered. "What do you want Shawn."

"Gus!"

"Shawn, I'm in a lunch meeting, can I call you back later?"

Shawn frowned. "But I might not be bored later. Seriously, this is level five dullness."

"I sympathize, but unfortunately the marketing reps don't."

"Oooo- you've got marketing reps? Dude, put me on speaker phone!"

There was a short pause. "I'm going to hang up now."

"Gus…"

_click._

Pouting, Shawn closed his cell and jammed it back in his pocket. Sticking the straw back in his mouth, he took another sip. Behind him, the door to Kroger's office opened. Adrian was standing in the door, facing the other way, and talking to the therapist inside.

"I know it's him! They were always perfectly arranged until he started coming in here!"

Kroger's voice answered just beyond the door. "Adrian, we discussed this. Remember? It's my office, and if I don't mind having my things moved around, you shouldn't mind either. Okay?"

Adrian's head dropped a little as he nodded. "Okay."

"Now I'll see you tomorrow… unless you're ready to move back to your regular schedule again."

Adrian looked up, and even from the back, Shawn could see he was excited. "You mean, the morning slot?"

"No… Adrian, I mean back to three days a week."

Adrian lowered his shoulders again. "Oh. No… I think, I think I still need to keep coming every day. Maybe, after a month…"

Shawn heard Kroger's sigh, and smiled around his straw. "Very well Adrian. Now, if you don't mind, I need to get some lunch before my next client."

"Okay."

Backing slowly, Adrian let the door shut with a soft click. Twitching he head, he turned around… and stared.

Shawn wiggled his fingers. "Yo!"


	3. My Name Is Shawn, I'll Be Your Driver

"I don't know if you should be driving… I'm pretty sure the regulations in San Francisco are different than Santa Barbara."

Shawn tapped his fingertips on his knee, right wrist draped over the steering wheel. Grinning widely, he stepped down a little more on the gas as he glanced to the side. This guy was turning out to be pretty amusing.

"Actually, I was amazed at how similar they are- believe me, I checked into it quite thoroughly!"

Adrian retrieved another wipe from the pack in his hand. "Really… was that before or after you… STOP SIGN, STOP SIGN!"

Shawn whipped his head back, slamming on the breaks… and glared. "Dude, it's like, fifty feet away!"

"I know," Adrian shook his head in wonderment, "It's a good thing I warned you in time."

Oh yes… definitely amusing.

In the next four minutes, Adrian warned him about five more stop signs, two traffic lights (both green), fourteen pedestrians (all on the sidewalks), and nine trash receptacles that were sitting a little too close to the curb.

His knuckles were beyond white when a cell phone rang. He went for his pocket until he remembered he'd switched his ringtone to "Rock Lobster". The current ringing was distinctly lacking in both the rock and the lobster… or anything resembling a danceable beat.

Adrian reached beneath his jacket, pulling a cell from his inside pocket. Using a wipe to flip open the lid, he spoke. "This is Adrian Monk speaking."

Shawn navigated through another intersection, grateful the other man was preoccupied with his call. How Gus could ever complain _he_ was an annoying passenger was beyond him- this guy practically screamed coronary!

"Yes… yes but… but Cap…"

Shawn glanced over, noting how distressed Adrian was becoming. He could just barely make out the sound of a firm voice on the other end of the line.

"But I don't have Natalie with me right now!... well… no I'm in a car, but she isn't driving."

Shawn took a left.

"No, I haven't been kidnapped!"

It was hard repress the chuckle.

"Okay, okay… fine. Yes… yes we'll be there right away."

Furrowing his brow, Shawn slowed the car. "We'll be what?"

0o0o0o0

He heard the flash of a camera before he reached the room. Adrian was walking ahead of him, studiously avoiding touching anyone as they traversed the narrow darkened hall. Several crime scene technicians crouched around the open door on the left, dusting for prints, collecting evidence, and marking off small droplets of red. Walking with combined purpose and haste, a few more techs and a uniformed officer brushed past him, headed for the stairs just around the last corner.

He could smell copper.

Another flash of light from a camera struck high shadows for just a moment, and in that moment, he entered the apartment. The very first thought he had was massacre. The walls were spattered, a distinct arc of force trailing upwards towards the ceiling. Several droplets had rained on the floor as well, snaking erratically on their way to the exit. There was a small kitchen to the right, unexpectedly clean… and lit softly by an overhead florescent. The one thing most notably missing, however, was the victim. But there was still one more room. And judging by the officers crowded at its apex, there was more inside than just a bed.

He followed in Adrian's wake, the officers moving aside… some with undisguised ridicule… most with undisguised awe… to let him pass. Watching how the man walked through the scene, he began to understand the latter sentiment. He wasn't the same man from the car.

A mustached officer in a tan suit met them just outside the bedroom. Sounds echoed around him, but he could make out the man's… Captain's… words through the cacophony. "…ut up pretty bad… looks like the same guy… she didn't go fast…"

The Captain noticed him standing there, and his gaze narrowed. "Who the hell are you?" The strange echo stopped almost instantly, and Shawn shook his head, still feeling a trace of confusion. Then he brushed it aside, realizing the Captain, Stottlemeyer, had asked him the question a second time. He forced himself to smile.

"Shawn Spencer, psychic detective from Santa Barbara. I came here with Mr. Monk. And might I say, that is a fabulous lip warmer!"

The Captain narrowed his eyes. "Monk…"

Adrian shrugged one shoulder, holding up his palms in supplication. "Captain, he took my slot…"

Shawn crossed his arms. "Oh don't be a cheesy burrito!"

Stottlemeyer backed away, shaking his head. "I don't want to know. If he's with you Adrian, he's your responsibility."

Shawn smiled, putting his arm across Adrian's shoulders, only to be shrugged off violently.

A younger, eager-looking man approached as Adrian walked into the bedroom. "Hi, Randy Disher, I heard what you told the Captain… you're really a psychic?"

Shawn gave the young man a once over. "Why yes, yes I am. And you are… a Lieutenant, correct?"

Randy beamed. "Y- yeah! Wow, how'd you know?"

"The spirits are eager to share there wisdom, I am but the conduit with which they speak." And your badge was a good hint, he thought bemusedly.

"Randall!" Came the voice of the Captain. Disher apologized quickly, excusing himself to hurry back to the crime scene.

Left alone for the moment, Shawn darted his eyes around the room, picking up little tidbits about the victim as he went. Three pairs of women's shoes by the door- all one size, laptop on the coffee table next to a vase of fresh flowers, pink suit coat on the back of a chair, no family pictures on the walls… His brows raised.

Oh he was so taking this…

It only took a second to don the right persona. Closing his eyes, throwing back his head, he yelled. "Stop! No… no please! Oh god, it's starting again!"

As expected, there was the sound of commotion as several officers jumped, a few approaching him warily. From the bedroom, he heard a startled shout. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON NOW!"

Locked in the throes of his 'vision', Shawn stepped forward, speaking in a slightly inflected voice. "We can't… this isn't right, what would your wife say!" He was getting into the act now, his hands pressing against his temple as he half-stumbled forward. "I can't help myself… your aura is so powerful… but we don't have much time…"

A hand clapped over his shoulder. "Look, kid, I don't know how they do it over in Santa Barbara, but here… in my town… we have a procedure."

Shawn dropped his hands, adopting an abashed smile. "Wow, I feel kind of self-conscious all of the sudden."

Captain Stottlemeyer started to steer him for the door. "How about this. You go wait down in your car. If, in the meantime, we suddenly need to bend some spoons, I'll give you a call."

Shawn ducked out from under his arm, heading back to the bedroom. "Actually, I only bend sporks… but I've been building up to spoons."

By this point, he'd reached the doorway to the bedroom. The area immediately before him was free of uniformed bodies. Only a few people were moving about the scene… one of them being Adrian Monk. He had his hands half-raised, palms out like he was feeling the air. His head was tilted, and his eyes were moving over everything… Shawn turned his head, moving his gaze sideways towards the bed… and froze.

_Constricting tape… hands couldn't move… beading sweat… cold… pain… fingers grasping… tugging at his waist… heavy lidded eyes… "I've been thinking about you…"_

He gasped, his hands shaking where he gripped the door frame. Someone grasped his shoulder and he wrenched away, stumbling towards the exit. He ignored the shout behind him, knowing only that he had to get out… had to run before…

Shoving into the stairwell, he took three more shaking steps, dropped to his knees, and vomited on the concrete platform.

0o0o0o0

He spit, nauseated by the taste. Desperately wishing for something to rinse out his mouth…

"You going to be okay?"

He glanced up, doing his best to mask the humiliation burning behind his eyes. "Oh, sure… I must have had a bad taco or something…"

Captain Stottlemeyer stepped back as he struggled shakily to his feet, grasping one hand tightly around the metal stair railing on his right. "I think I'm going to write a letter to the Casa Mexicana corporation- they should know what they're serving their customers!" He spit again, then paused as Stottlemeyer held out a tissue. Mumbling his thanks, he used it to clear his mouth.

"You know… there's a reason they don't like to allow civilians on a crime scene… and it isn't always to protect evidence…"

Shawn chuckled darkly. "You think I lost my lunch because I saw a body?"

Stottlemeyer crossed his arms, staring back pointedly. "Look, I don't know you. I don't know why you're here, or what your story is. For all I know, you brainwashed Monk into bringing you here- believe me, with him, that's actually a possibility. One thing I do know, however, is that you're getting in the way; and I don't have time to play mommy while I'm trying to stop a murderer!"

Shawn clenched his teeth, dropping his eyes. Was this guy channeling his father? He was pretty sure his ears were bright red, they always flamed when he was embarrassed… or tuned on. Though, at the moment, he was about as far from turned on as he could get. He couldn't believe he'd fallen apart like that! Talk about wussy!

His hands had stopped shaking by this point, and he let go of the rail. Finally, sighing, he looked up again with a weary smile.

"You don't happen to have a bottle of water on you, do you?"


	4. Would You Like Fries With That?

No visions were harmed in the making of this story

"Tell me what happened yesterday, after you saw the body."

Shawn was draped in the chair again, his arms dangling loosely over the armrests. Before he could stop himself, he'd prattled out the adventure from the day before, especially the parts about driving Adrian around. He hadn't missed the understanding humor that had flashed in Kroger's eyes either. When he got to the part about the murder scene, though, he'd glossed over a few details… and finally stuttered to a halt at the point when he'd seen the woman…

_…Bludgeoned… she'd been bludgeoned to death…_

… lying on the bed. For the first time in memory, he just wished he could shut up. Unfortunately, as Gus had repeatedly pointed out, he didn't have an off switch.

"I… I uh… remembered something… and I ran." He tapped his fingers against his thumbs. _Just don't tell him you puked… just don't tell him you puked…_

"And I threw up."

_Crap! What did I just say!?_

Kroger was still giving him that attentive look, his fingers collected neatly on his lap. When Shawn stopped speaking again, he brought one hand up to his cheek. "What was it you remembered?"

Shawn had been chewing the tip of his pinkie nail, staring back out at those stupid trees. At Kroger's words he looked up, distracted. "Huh?"

"You said, before you ran from the room, you remembered something."

He dug a fingernail into the tip of his thumb, forcing away the images with no small amount of effort. He was alarmed to realize his skin felt clammy. "I don't remember remembering anything… it was probably just some moldy sour cream or something…"

Kroger smiled a little. "Or a bit of undigested potato?"

Now Shawn really was confused. "There wasn't any potato in my taco…"

Kroger chuckled at his expression. "It's from "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens. Scrooge sees the specter of his former partner appear before him- who issues a warning to Ebenezer. However, rather than accept the warning, Scrooge dismisses it as a bad bit of food… an undigested potato. Or in your case, moldy sour cream."

Shawn sat up suddenly. "So, what… you're saying I'm going to be visited by three ghosts? Cause here's the thing… I'm psychic, ghosts and I rap all the time."

The other man laced his hands together, not rising to the bait. "What I'm saying, is that I think you're trying to avoid dealing with what your mind is telling you. Now, I admit I could be wrong, but what it sounds like you're describing is PTS, or Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome… what war veterans called Shell Shock."

"Ooo, can I call it Shell Shock? It'll sound like I've seen action!"

The doctor leaned forward slightly, his left elbow resting on the arm of his chair. "Shawn, this is a serious condition, it can cause sleeplessness, uncontrollable fear, and sometimes even a flashback state where you relive a specific event. It can have a lasting impact on your ability to get through your day. And considering the type of work you do… it could ultimately mean an end to your detective business."

Shawn swallowed, sliding back in his chair and wrapping his arms loosely around his stomach. He hadn't really thought about that…

"I'm going to prescribe a mild sedative… just to help you sleep. Please," he said, raising his hand against Shawn's half-formed objection, "just give it a week. If it doesn't work, we'll try something else."

The small bottle dangled in front of his face for several seconds. He hated this, he didn't need to dope himself up! Finally, rolling his eyes, he snatched it from Kroger's hands.

"Fine… but don't tell the other patients, they sorta look up to me."

0o0o0o0

1:22 am.

The room was too hot. Twenty minutes ago, he'd finally given in and swallowed one of the pills. Now, he found himself staring up at the ceiling of the rental apartment… sweltering. He had been thinking about getting up and adjusting the air conditioning for the past fifteen minutes… but he just didn't have the motivation. Also… his arms and legs felt like they'd gone to a strip bar, and forgotten to tell the rest of his body.

Something in the kitchen fell over.

His eyes flicked to the left, scanning through the half-open door leading from the bedroom. Everything was black beyond the doorway. It was so quiet he could hear the steady surge of blood in his veins. He didn't even notice that he was straining to listen. Bu nothing was there. He blinked, his eyes starting to tear from staring so long in one place. His pupils dilated, creating strange visual patterns with the sharp contrasts of the room. Several minutes passed. His lids felt heavy…. Maybe he was actually going to fall asleep…

Something brushed against his door.

His eyes were open again, focused on that small sliver of black. He tried to roll to his side, but realized he couldn't even twitch… Was this sedative supposed to paralyze? He tried to call out, but his vocal cords were frozen as well.

The door rocked, as though struck by a puff of air. He held his breath… watching it intently… his pulse thrumming steadily faster. Slowly, slowly, it started to open… There was a shape… blacker than the room behind it… hovering at the threshold. His arms erupted in goosebumps… and he realized he was gasping. How had it gotten so cold!? He swallowed, breathing through his nose as he tried to keep still. The thing didn't move… and it seemed to be studying him, watching while he panicked, unable to shout, unable to run.

The door started to close, and the creature entered the room.

He moaned, incapable of any other sound as the thing advanced, soundlessly, across the soft carpet. It stopped at the foot of his bed… head lowered, cloaked in the dark. Then, slowly, it raised its chin… raised it until a filtered shaft of pale moonlight defined its features into an impossible face.

In his head, Shawn screamed… No… he was dead! He saw the report! Lassiter had even confirmed it! But the reality wouldn't mesh with what his eyes told him. The man before him smiled, his face savage… twisted to the left where the two bullets from Lassiter's gun had struck him. One eye was gone, a sightless socket the only remains. The other was bloodshot, no trace of a soul behind the bulging orb. His lips twisted in a horrific leer, baring his teeth as one hand came to rest on Shawn's leg. Methodically, he started to slide onto the bed…

Shawn wanted to twist away, but he was frozen in place. He was helpless… He clenched his teeth as the mutilated head lowered, hovering above his face, hot breath panting against his cheek. A curled hand clawed down his chest, down to his hips, hooking into his waistband…

_"…I've been thinking about you…"_

Shawn screamed, lurching upright in bed. The creature was gone… his bedroom was empty. He realized he was sweating heavily; his breath shuddering… his heart hammering madly… _"_

_…I've been thinking about you…"_

Lurching to his feet, he bolted for the door.

0o0o0o0

He stared at the unopened bottle on his nightstand.

His stomach felt hollowed out, though no big surprise why. Purging at two fifteen am had definitely moved to the top of his list as most icky things to do after dark. He sighed, half-reaching for the short bottle before stopping. He didn't want to take any medication. He didn't need it… he wasn't even sick!

But… But he couldn't handle seeing…

_Bared teeth… clawing hands… tepid breath…_

He scrunched his face, clasping his elbows tightly.

Would one really hurt?

Would this make him an addict?

Of everything his father had tried to teach him growing up; that was one lesson that didn't require a lot of work. Especially after seeing a high-school kid almost overdose…

But that dream… If he fell asleep… and THAT was waiting for him again… If he had to hear that voice…

Slowly, hand still trembling, he reached for the bottle.

0o0o0o0

Natalie stared at him across the table, her expression mystified. "Wait… wait, I thought you said Wally wasn't the bad guy…"

"Noooo… I said I _thought_ that I thought he wasn't the guy that did it at first… but actually he _was_ the guy… but in disguise, so that we'd think he wasn't the guy we thought he was!"

Natalie sipped her iced tea… brow furrowed, pondering. "So he wasn't the guy?"

It was noon the next day. Shawn's session that morning had been significantly better than the day before, though the single dose of Remeron he'd taken had left him slightly drowsy through most of the morning. Afterward, he'd managed to greet Adrian with restrained, (for him), joviality. The other man, for his part, held his hands close to his body until he was in the office. Shawn was determined to muss his curls one of these days, the guy needed to loosen up.

He wondered if Adrian was the type to initiate a slappy fight if pushed too hard…

Natalie had been standing in the hall outside the office common area when he'd opened the door… apparently waiting for him. He'd been tickled to see that she looked nervous. After an extremely brief exchange of pleasantries, she'd asked if she could take him to lunch, to pay him back for helping out before.

Shawn made it a point to never turn away a free meal.

And then she'd opened a can of tapeworms when she asked about what he did at work. He was a little disappointed when his "Best Case Ever" story didn't generate the awe it usually did. Most of the girls he'd told it to had been very impressed, especially when he got to the part where Wally and his steroid-pumped army of seven other guys pulled machine guns on Gus and himself and started firing. Even Gus had been impressed by that part… once they edited out the rocket launcher of course. The story needed to maintain some realism after all.

"Machine guns…"

Shawn nodded. "Yes, though now that I think about it… one of them may have had a _submachine_ gun… the difference is subtle I know."

Natalie laughed, wrinkling her nose. "Okay, so you defeated the bad guys, and you and Gus rode off into the sunset, right?"

He leaned his head on his hand, grabbing a french fry. "Well… sorta. Gus had to prepare a presentation for the next day, so I dropped him off after the first ridge and finished the sunset ride alone." He dipped his fry in some ketchup, coating it liberally before sticking it in his mouth. Still chewing, he nodded in her direction. "Incidentally… they never talk about how the hero has to slink back into town with a flat tire on his ride after the sun finally sets." He took a large sip of his soda. "So… you know my secrets… it's only fair to share your dark past… Do you, perchance, like to dress up in leather after work and scour the rooftops for evil goings-on?" He raised his brows in a hopeful expression.

The woman across from his just laughed again, swallowing a bite of her sandwich. "Not exactly, I think my daughter might have a problem with that." She took another sip of her tea, looking off into space for a second, as her face became troubled. Finally, turning her eyes back to Shawn, she set down her glass. "Sorry… just thinking…"

"About your daughter."

She nodded. "Julie's growing up faster than I'm ready for. Every day I wake up, she seems like she's an inch taller. It's like, a week ago she's begging for a new Barbie… and tomorrow… she'll be looking through Bridal magazines." Her eyes were still shadowed… but they also looked… frightened.

Shawn leaned forward. "It's more than that though… isn't it. You know about the case Adrian's working on… and it scares you."

She nodded. "I know most parents worry about their kids to some degree… usually the normal stuff like getting through high-school, getting a good job, a good spouse… But… now I worry about other things, like… will this job ever put her in danger?" She played with her glass, spinning it in her fingers. "About two years ago, a man broke into my house."

Shawn sat up a little straighter at her serious tone.

"He was there to steal something… but at the time, all I could think about was… my daughter is upstairs, I have to protect her. So I attacked him, and he knocked me down. He tried to strangle me, but I managed to grab a pair of scissors and… I stabbed him." She shrugged, her eyes distant. "I killed him."

Shawn swallowed heavily, for once, at a loss as to what to say. Natalie squared her shoulders, looking up at him. "The thing of it is, though… working for Mr. Monk, I feel like I'm doing something about things like this. He needs me to look after him… so that he can be out there catching these monsters. When I killed that man, Mr. Monk was the one who caught the person responsible for him breaking into my home. And without him, people like the person who murdered that lady, might never get caught." Her eyes became suddenly intense. "He needs me to look out for him… so that he can look out for everyone else."

Shawn nodded, his mind elsewhere. He supposed, in many ways, he was like Monk. He didn't have a Natalie… but he had a Gus. Granted, Gus didn't always keep him out of trouble… usually it was more like Shawn got them both into trouble… and Gus had to figure out if their insurance covered whatever happened. Come to think of it… Gus had promised to call him back…

"You alright?"

He looked up again. Natalie was eyeing him strangely.

"What… oh god, please tell me I don't have food in my teeth…" He pulled back his lip, trying to see his reflection in his spoon.

She chuckled. "Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to get together again sometime… maybe meet Julie."

He raised on brow. "A second date… I'm feeling a little flustered. Tell me… was it the Axe body spray?"

Natalie looked at him sideways. "Okay… date might be a stretch. Actually," she faced him steadily, "Mr. Monk told me what happened at the crime scene."

Shawn covered his face with his hands. "Ohhh… god…" he peeked through his fingers, then lowered his arms. "Look… I was having a rough morning, and seriously, that Mexican place looked a bit seedy…"

"What?" She was staring at him, completely baffled. "He said he heard you say something important… he thought he could ask you about it. …What happened at the Mexican place?"

Shawn swallowed weakly. "Absolutely nothing. Are you planning to finish your cornbread?"

He really... really needed to learn how to shut up...


	5. Don't Frown, It's Bad For Your Skin

**"_Red snappers snappin', Clam shells clappin', Muscles flexin', Flippers flippin'"_**

Shawn jerked sharply, realizing two things in the next three-quarters of a second- one, he'd forgotten to turn off his phone, and two, he'd been sleeping too close to the edge of his bed. It was while he was lying on the floor, one leg still twisted up in the covers, that he realized a third thing… they really needed to paint the ceilings in this place.

The synthesized beat of his ring tone started over again, and Shawn reached up with one hand, tapping around until he caught the phone with two fingers. Shifting his shoulders a bit, he answered.

"Dapper Dan the psychic man… Gus! And they say guys never call back!"

_"Shawn, open your door."_

"Huh?"

He scratched his face with his free hand, not quite awake enough yet to comprehend what Gus was asking him to do. There was a faint knocking, and Shawn rolled back and forth a little, trying to free his leg. Holding the phone away from his ear, he craned his neck towards the sound. "Hold on, I'll be right there!" He lifted the cell again, finally wrenching his leg from the tangled blanket. "Dude, I'll call you right back, someone's at the door."

_"Shawn…"_ Cutting off Gus's voice, he used the bed to yank himself upright. Dropping the phone on his bed, he grabbed his jeans, sticking one leg in on his way out of the bedroom. Hopping on one foot, he maneuvered his way awkwardly across the living room. Whoever was on the other side of the prefab door pounded harder. "Hold on!" He shouted again, zipping his fly up and securing the button. Reaching out, he flipped the lock on the door and yanked it open.

"Gus!"

His friend was still holding his phone, a medium sized bag in his hands and a glare in his eyes.

Shawn laughed softly. "Oh… whoops…"

Instead of berating his friend for his air-headedness, though, Gus slipped his phone into his pocket and entered the apartment.

Scratching the back of his head and yawning, Shawn turned to follow, kicking the door shut with his foot.

His friend dropped his bag on the floor next to the kitchen counter. "You forgot that I said I was coming this weekend, didn't you." Gus's expression was semi-murderous as his wandered over to the coffee pot, searching for a second to locate the small bag of beans and the grinder.

Shawn rubbed a finger across his brows as Gus measured out some beans and started grinding loudly. "Of course I didn't forget… wait, didn't you say you wanted to drive?"

The grinder stopped, and the other man lifted his brow, pressing a filter into the brewer and adding several heaping spoonfuls of heady, dark grounds. "Drive? Shawn, it takes like, over eight hours to get here… why would I drive?"

Shawn crossed his arms. "No way, I totally did it in five when I came here last fall!"

The coffee pot began to percolate merrily as Gus pulled out a kitchen chair, plopping down wearily. "Yeah, on your bike… and don't change the subject, you were supposed to pick me up from the airport… Though, it's obvious to me now that you forgot that too."

Shawn, unwilling to debate on an empty stomach, opened a kitchen cupboard and pulled down a large box of Fruit Os. As he fixed himself a bowl of the sweet cereal, he leaned against the counter. "You should have called me."

The delicious scent of coffee wafted around the kitchen, offset nicely by Gus's ire. "I did call you, eight times! I left messages six times."

Shawn frowned. No way… his ringer was totally loud; he'd have heard that… And then he felt like slapping himself. Crap… he remembered now. He'd had another of those dreams… and hadn't even hesitated swallowing his medication. Apparently, the snappy lyrics of the B52s hadn't been enough to rouse him until now. Oh well, Gus survived… and would likely go on to live a long and happy life.

Taking a bite of lime and berry Os, Shawn's attention drifted. Was it really his fault he'd been drugged all night? After all, he'd basically been forced to take those stupid pills home. And really, he shouldn't complain anyhow… those dreams… He shuddered, quickly casting around for something else to think about. Ahh… the kitchen wall, perfect!

Blinking steadily, he contemplated the tan-ish colored paint on the wall next to the fridge. Or was it beige? Maybe puce? Whatever… it was a color his father would have chosen… therefore, ugly.

"Shawn?"

Speaking of ugly… did they even make refrigerators like that any more? He was pretty sure that design went out of fashion around the time Lassie first aired.

"Shawn?"

Ah Lassy-face… he must really miss him by now. He should send him a text…

"Shawn…"

Maybe a postcard…

"Hey!"

Ooo, a singing telegram!

_**SWACK!**_

"OUCH!" He rubbed the back of his head, glaring at his friend. "WHAT!"

"Shawn, what the hell is up with you?"

Still feeling his scalp for blood, Shawn set his bowl on the counter and reached for the box for a refill. Gus snatched it away before his fingers could touch it, retrieving his own bowl and filling it to the rim. "You're acting like a zombie… which is definitely not normal for you." The coffee was done by this point, so Gus set the cereal box down on the table and went to pour himself a large cupful.

Slumping into his chair, Shawn grabbed the box of cereal and topped off his partially finished breakfast. "Didn't you get the memo? Zombie is the new pink- there's even a catch phrase, 'Go Bold with Mold'!"

Gus rolled his eyes, taking a large sip of steaming liquid as he glanced around, frowning at the décor. "Ugh Shawn… flowered fabric? And who paints their walls _Desert Sage_?"

Shawn looked up quickly, a dribble of milk rolling down his chin. "That's what it's called? I was sorta leaning towards puce."

"Shawn, puce is purplish-brown, not greenish-tan, and wipe your mouth."

"Yeah, well puce sounds better. It even sounds gross pronouncing it." He responded, taking another giant bite and munching happily.

For a few more minutes, the only sounds in the kitchen were the two of them eating. Finally, both men finished their cereal, pushing away their bowls. Leaving their dishes on the table, they wandered into the living room. Gus glanced around again while Shawn, clenching his teeth on another yawn, dropped onto the couch.

"Hey, where's the bathroom?"

Shawn rolled his head to the side and jerked his chin. "Through the bedroom, the door is right next to the stylish, black-velvet portrait of Johnny Cash."

As Gus vanished, he let his eyes drift closed. He was really starting to hate this… it was Saturday for cripes sake!! Saturday was sacred! Next to Tuesdays 'Open Mike Night' at the Buckaroo, it was the best day of the week! Yet here he was, haring out on happy pills and daydreaming about overstuffed pillows… He was Shawn Spencer dammit! Not a baby kitten that ran mewling to hide under the bed from a yucky dream!

"Shawn… what the hell are these?"

He lifted his arm off his eyes, glancing over to see Gus holding up the bottle of Remeron. Groaning, he dropped his arm again, shifting a little to get more comfortable. "Crack. I know a guy at the bus station, he totally hooked me up. Speaking of which, do you have five hundred bucks? My stash is getting a little light."

"This is Remeron…"

"WHAT?" Shawn sat up quickly. "Dude, I knew I shouldn't have trusted that guy! He said it was premium stuff!"

Gus hefted the bottle. "Shawn, this is for major depression, why are you taking it?"

He did not want to have this conversation right now. "It's just a sedative. That therapist you guys are forcing me to see is making me take it. Though… actually? I was gonna put out feelers to see how much I could make with it on the street. In fact, with your mad connections…"

"This isn't funny Shawn."

"Gus, I'm talking major bank here!"

The other man glared again, finally tossing the bottle at his friend. Shawn caught it against his chest.

"Fine… whatever." Gus walked back to the kitchen, retrieving his bag. After a second, he returned, stopping by the couch and kicking Shawn's ankle. "Move over."

Shawn slid over a little to give him room to sit. Gus dropped down lightly, pulling his bag into his lap. Unzipping it, he started digging through its contents. "Ooo… did you bring presents? Is it fuzzy socks?"

Gus shoved aside a book and a rolled up polo shirt, finally locating a small wrapped package. "Your dad sent this with me, he didn't tell me why."

Shawn took the package warily, curled his lip. Tearing open the end, he shook his head. "Is he dying or something? Cause seriously, he doesn't even give me birthday presents anymore…" and he stopped, staring at the object resting on his hand. "It's a fishing lure."

Gus leaned over, examining the small yellow-colored fish. "It isn't even new."

Tilting his head to the side, Shawn wrinkled his nose. He held the lure closer, turning it one way, then the other. Most of the paint had been stripped away by repeated use. The treble on one of the hooks had snapped, leaving only a little piece of metal with a crooked tip. The only part that still retained any dignity was one large eye, set with a fake ruby. He pushed his lips in a fish pout… turning the lure one more time, then dropping it back in its box. "Nope, I got nothing."

Gus shook his head. "Dude, your dad is strange." Standing, he dropped his bag on the end of the couch. "I'm taking a shower." Tugging a clean shirt from his bag, he headed back towards the bathroom. "I know you just had breakfast, but considering your metabolism, you wanna grab some lunch in about an hour?"

Shawn stood as well, stretching mightily. "Sure. I'll do my best to try to restrain my mindless, beast-like appetite until then."

As Gus disappeared, Shawn wandered back to the kitchen, putting away the milk and creamer in the fridge, and sliding the cereal box on the counter after scooping a handful of Os. Grabbing the two bowls and Gus's coffee mug, he deposited them in the sink before preparing his own wake-up cup. Ah bliss! He had to hand it to Gus, the man knew how to make a kickin cup of caffeine.

Taking another careful sip, he made his way back to the living room to snap on the TV. Flipping channels quickly, he finally located a news station. They were just finishing the introduction of the anchors. The view shifted to the station banner, then cut back to the anchor desk.

"Welcome to CBS channel 5 News. Hello, I'm John Kessler. Today, our top news story for this half hour is the tragic death of one of this city's most prominent socialites, Dayton Vanderhill. As we reported earlier this week, Vanderhill was found in her home late Wednesday evening by housekeeping staff, who had been horrified to discover hanging in her own closet by a vacuum cleaner cord… the victim of an apparent suicide."

Shawn leaned forward as the report continued, his coffee cup forgotten in his hands.

"Police are still baffled at the motive behind heiress's death. Known for her vehement objection to animal research in medical and scientific experimentation, Vanderhill was a champion for animal rights. In two thousand three, Vanderhill, along with fourteen other protesters, was arrested outside Chase Medical during a silent protest. In the course of her arrest, Vanderhill suffered a broken collar bone. The resulting lawsuit was settled out-of-court for an unreported amount. In o' five, Vanderhill again made news when she posed nude for…"

Shawn clicked off the news, his brow furrowed. Setting his now cold coffee on the small table before him, he rested his head in his hands. Wednesday… the same day he and Adrian had gone to the scene of a woman's murder. She had been a secretary at a law firm… fairly low level. And that same evening, Dayton Vanderhill had killed herself, also in her own home. The same day, yet completely different circumstances. So why did something tickle his mind? One was very obviously a murder. The other was very obviously a suicide. One was a secretary, one was an heiress. Completely different, yet somehow… something about this…

He sighed, rubbing his face. Not that it really made a difference anyhow; it wasn't like he'd be invited on _this_ case considering how he'd humiliated himself on the last one. Which reminded him, Adrian still wanted to ask him about what he'd said… most likely Shawn's observation about the 'afternoon delight' that had apparently taken place. He had to admit even a good detective might have missed the signs… fresh flowers in a place of importance, shoes carefully lined up by the door while the jacket had been haphazardly tossed over the back of a chair… Considering how meticulously she'd arranged her shoes, if she'd been home for the day, she'd have hung up her jacket. Also, there had been no other flowers in the room to establish a regular habit, so she likely hadn't bought them for herself… obviously a gift. And since she didn't appear to have family, or at least close family judging from the lack of any pictures, it was probably not a relative that had brought over the bouquet. Also, the overhead light in the kitchen had been on, and he'd spotted an open bottle of wine on the counter. The assumption she was having an illicit affair had been more intuitive.

Hot, young secretary, lunch-break sex romp with wine, flowers… it may be cliché, but there was a reason clichés existed after all…

The kitchen had been clean, with no sign of blood from his angle… but the living room had been doused in it. She hadn't died there though. The drag marks on the carpet showed she'd been hauled to the bedroom. More blood on the walls in there, plus the disaster of the bed itself indicated she'd gone down fighting.

Shawn rubbed his forehead again. He still felt sluggish. But, like before, the effects of the pills were beginning to fade the longer he was up. Unfortunately, the longer he was up, the more he began to notice how… 'icky' he felt. Gus better damn-well hurry up with that shower!

0o0o0o0

"Tell me again why we're meeting this Detective Monk?"

Shawn whimpered, resting his peanut butter cup and gummi shake in the holder between the seats. Slowly, his brain-freeze evaporated, helped along by a drawn-out groan.

Beside him, Gus took another bite of Pistachio and cake-batter waffle cone. "I told you that was going to happen."

Shawn scrunched his lips, glancing down at the shake. One more sip… this time, he promised… nay, swore to himself he wouldn't gulp it…

Maybe…

He was just reaching for it again when Gus slapped his hand. "Ouch!"

"No way. You're driving, and I for one don't want to call your dad to say you died when you crashed your car cause you ate ice cream too fast."

Shawn glanced at his friend, who took a deliberate bite from his cone. "But you're in the car with me. You'll die too Gus."

Gus shook his head. "Nope. I may, under protest, go into business with you, but I sure as hell don't plan to die with you. I plan to leap like a little bunny the second it starts to get ugly… Blade-style."

"Gus, I don't think Wesley Snipes ever leaped like a bunny."

Ignoring him, Gus licked melting ice cream from the side of his cone. "You still didn't answer my question Shawn."

The car slowed to a stop at a red light. Shawn tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "I did too."

"No, you said they asked you to come over because they had some questions for you. You never said why though."

Biting his lower lip, Shawn kept his eyes locked on the light while his right hand reached slowly for the shake. Almost… almost…. Damn! Gus rebuffed him again, and Shawn stuck a stinging digit into his mouth.

"Fine, he wanted to ask me about… something I might have said… atamurderscene."

Gus lowered his hands, his eyes suddenly sharp. "I'm sorry… would you repeat that last little bit? It sounded like you said at a murder scene. But that couldn't be right, because you're here for therapy sessions, not detective work."

The light turned green, and Shawn made a quick right. "Oh come on, it was a total accident!"

Gus was glaring outright now. "Shawn, how do you accidentally end up at a murder scene?"

The car traveled uphill a short distance, finally coming to a stop outside a row of bright apartments. "I'll tell you later, we're here!"

"Shawn!"

Grabbing his shake, Shawn exited quickly and sprinted for the building.

0o0o0o0

Adrian Monk sat bolt upright on his couch. Nearby, Natalie sat in the leather armchair, her legs crossed primly. With just her in the apartment, the room would have been nearly perfect… except for the small smudge on the left side of her heel. Unfortunately, it wasn't just Natalie, with the small smudge, in the room. There were two other gentlemen in the room as well. And they drove even the notion of perfection out the window to splatter messily on the street. Two mental images he wouldn't wish on anyone, particularly himself.

He hid his shudder well. The man on the left wasn't bad. He was dressed in a neatly pressed polo shirt and slacks… though Adrian did notice a small spot of what looked like dried ice cream on his sleeve. However, a wipe would take care of that. If not, Adrian was certain Natalie wouldn't mind taking it to the cleaners.

The other man though. This time, his shudder wasn't as easy to hide. He couldn't believe Natalie had invited this… 'psychic' into his home. The man was infuriating! It was Dolly Flint all over again! There was no way this man could be a psychic… and not just because Adrian didn't believe in psychics. For one thing, psychics would never do THAT to their hair.

"Mr. Monk?"

He turned his head, regarding Natalie beseechingly. It was apparent she wasn't receiving his messages today, though, because she gestured to the two men. "Didn't you want to ask Mr. Spencer about his vision?"

Adrian blinked, looking back at the other man, who had lowered himself into the chair by the wall. His friend, Gus, remained standing, leaning against the archway. Rolling his shoulder, Adrian did his best not to imagine what sort of particles were currently being transferred to the seat of his second favorite piece of furniture.

"Yes. Mr. Spencer, I do have a question for you. What makes you think you're a psychic?"

"Mr. Monk, that wasn't the question!"

Shawn Spencer leaned forward, his expression tense. "What makes you think I'm not a psychic?"

Adrian loosened, feeling himself go automatically into interrogation mode as he tilted his head to the side. "I asked you first."

The 'psychic' closed his eyes, bringing his fingertips to his temples. Adrian jumped when the man suddenly lunged to his feet, jerking around the room as if he was being dragged by something. "Oh no, Gus… Gus, I can't stop it!" Adrian looked on, horrified, and leaned over to Natalie. "What is he doing?" He asked slowly. Natalie just shrugged, shaking her head.

Suddenly Shawn stopped, then whirled, jogging in place. "I… I see… running… you're running… running away? No, no… running toward… something… something good… a ticket? No… a tape? Wait… a finish line! You're a sprinter!" Shawn stopped, his eyes opening mournfully. "But… but you couldn't finish… you quit… even though you loved doing it…"

Adrian glanced at Natalie, who was looking impressed. This was ridiculous… "Oh come on… he could have found that information anywhere!" He raised his hands, waiting for her support. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know Mr. Monk… that was pretty good."

Adrian dropped his arms in frustration. "There is no way this man is a psychic!"

Shawn dropped back into the chair he'd abandoned earlier, looking smug. "Yes I am."

Adrian glared at him. "No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not."

"I so totally am… and you can't prove I'm not."

Adrian leaned forward, smiling tightly. "Try me."

Natalie stood quickly. "Okay, boys… look, Mr. Monk, you wanted to ask Mr. Spencer about his vision last Wednesday…"

Adrian still had his eyes locked with Shawn's. "No, I wanted to ask him about what he SAID last Wednesday. There is no way he had a vision, psychics are not real."

"Mr. Monk, lots of people believe in psychics." Natalie had her arms crossed, her stance rigid as she stared down at her boss.

Adrian, still staring, laughed scoffingly. "A lot of people are insane. Look, I think you can trust my judgment on this."

His assistant was still glaring at him. "So… what, because you don't believe in psychics, that makes them not real?"

He smiled at her sudden understanding, relived he'd been clear. "Exactly."

She growled, throwing up her arms. "You are the most frustrating man…"

Adrian clasped his hands in his lap. "Mr. Spencer, on Wednesday afternoon, while at the crime scene, you said something that caught my attention."

Shawn nodded, steepling his fingers. "Yes, sometimes the leadings of the spirits can be very unsettling."

Adrian rubbed his brow. "Mr. Spencer…"

"Please… call me Shawn."

"Shawn," continued Adrian. "After your… 'episode' in the living room, you came into the bedroom and said something odd… you said… 'I've been thinking about you.' What did that mean exactly… I've been thinking about you?"

He'd been studying his hands while he spoke. When he looked up again, the other man's face had gone white. "Mr. Spencer?"

Shawn's mouth opened, then shut again suddenly. He pushed himself to his feet, and Adrian could see that his hands were shaking. "Uh… I uh… just remembered… I promised I'd call my dad this afternoon- he always worries if I don't call… sorry about that- we'll need to get together again sometime!" Turning quickly, he barreled out the door.

Gus, still standing in the room, looked just as bewildered as Adrian felt. Finally, he raised his arms. "I'm sorry about that; sometimes Shawn's visions… overwhelm him. It was nice meeting you both." He turned to go, disappearing around the corner. Adrian could hear his steps break into a run the moment he was out of sight.

The two people remaining didn't move for several seconds. Finally, Natalie shook her head. "Well that was weird. Do you suppose he had another vision? Oh wait, you don't believe in psychics."

Adrian was still staring at the place Shawn had been sitting. Something about his eyes when he'd heard that question…

"I don't think, at the time, that he realized he'd even said that. He was surprised… but more than that…"

Adrian rubbed at his brow again, knowing he's recognized that look in the young man's eyes before he'd bolted. He'd seen that own look reflected back at himself too many times.

"He looked terrified."


	6. Dude, Give Me A Flippin Break!

Not surprisingly, Shawn was already buckled in the car by the time Gus made his way out of the building. What was surprising was the fact that he was in the passenger's side. As Gus pulled open the other door, Shawn held out the keys. Wordlessly, Gus took them and slid into the car. As he started the vehicle, he glanced over at his friend again. Shawn's face was very pale, and there was sweat on his upper lip. Though his hands were wrapped around his midsection, Gus could still tell they were shaking. He opened his mouth, but Shawn's muted tone stopped him.

"I'd just like to get back to the apartment."

Part of Gus wanted to ask Shawn what the hell that all had been about. Part of him wanted to berate the other man for his abrupt exit, for leaving him hanging, for not telling him what he was thinking… for shoving him away. However, a much wiser part of his brain insisted on giving Shawn his space. Always one to see reason, especially from himself, Gus faced forward again and headed back to the rental.

0o0o0o0

This was just too easy!

When Shawn had first walked into Adrian's home, he'd automatically started scanning the place. It was immediately apparent that, aside from a pathological need for neatness, the guy had an overwhelming fixation on a pretty blonde woman, obviously his wife. There were pictures of her everywhere! Most were head shots, but there were some of her at the beach, walking in a garden, sitting on a swing, and more.

As Gus introduced himself, Shawn had wandered over to a desk on the other side of the room, still sipping at his shake… though it was mostly melty by this point. Just a few seconds of scanning convinced him that mentioning the wife, Trudy, would be a mistake. And in that same moment, he thought he understood Adrian Monk a little better. Having your wife killed in a car bomb was bound to mess you up a little.

So, wife was out, what else could he use… ah! On the wall near the desk hung a picture of an older black man, obviously at the last leg of a marathon… And in the same frame, mounted neatly, was the same sweatband the man was wearing in the picture. Shawn glanced at the media shelf on the right of the desk. His eyes picked out a photo album. Glancing back, he saw that Gus was still engaged with the other two room occupants. Perfect… act natural… He slid the book from its shelf, flipping through it quickly. Ha! There he was! And he looked so perky in his little running shorts! Judging by the picture, Adrian was between fifteen and seventeen. And here was another shot of him running in a marathon. Shawn flipped a few more pages, frowning a little. Hmm… no more running pictures after that last one at the marathon… Yet obviously Adrian loved the sport, given the picture he had. And Shawn also remembered seeing a pair of brand-new sneakers by the front door, their laces perfectly tied. But the sneakers had no creases in them to indicate regular use. So he didn't use them anymore… Shawn smiled, sliding the book back just before Natalie turned to beckon him over.

To repeat, this was too easy.

0o0o0o0

This was too hard.

After an oppressively silent car ride back to the rental apartment, Shawn had slid from the vehicle complaining he had a headache, which he did, and that he needed to rest a while, which he didn't. He just couldn't be around anyone right now, not even Gus.

And he couldn't get what Adrian had said out of his mind.

Ever since coming here he felt like he'd been cracking apart! He had nightmares nearly every night, in spite of the medication. Actually… he thought, the medication might be making it worse, because he couldn't wake up now when confronted by… that. When he did wake up, it was always with the memory of heated breath panting against his ear… whispering, implying intent with a single short sentence. And always, he felt the same sick desperation… the feeling that he wouldn't get away this time…

He pushed the thought away violently, but he still felt as though a battered visage was hovering over his shoulder, waiting… mocking him…

When Adrian had said those words to him this afternoon, he'd felt an instant of horrifying shock. He remembered the incident from Wednesday, when he'd stepped into the bedroom and a sudden visual memory had overlapped the murder scene. He remembered hearing the excited utterance in his head… but he'd spoken it too? He was pacing around his room when his eyes fell on the small table by his bed. The little bottle of pills sat there. His hand twitched at the sight of them, and he had a sudden desire to swallow more than just one… enough to blot out any chance of…

_"I've been thinking about you…"_

What the hell! Shawn squeezed shut his eyes, pressing his palms against his lids. Trying to escape was becoming impossible… every time he turned around something jogged the recording device in his brain, looping back to that last night…

He shook his head, dropping his hands again to glare at the bottle of medication. In sudden anger, he grabbed it and threw it violently against the wall, watching with immense satisfaction as the small pills scattered across the room. The last thing he needed, on top of everything else, was to become dependent on some stupid sedative that only made him feel loopy and disconnected… he could do that very well on his own thank you! Dragging a hand through his hair, he let himself flop on the bed… and wiggled. Something was jabbing him in the back. Reaching behind himself, he pulled out his phone. The battery was three-quarters depleted… he probably should stick in the charger… Instead, he tossed the phone on his pillow. Rolling on his side, he stifled a yawn. Okay, maybe he'd lied earlier… he actually did feel kinda tired…

He didn't planned on falling asleep.

0o0o0o0

He was standing in a bedroom. There must be an open window somewhere, because the ruffles on the edge of the bed before him were floating about lazily. He stepped forward a little, then stopped again. There was someone reclining in the soft, white sheets… ooo, and she was hot! And even better, he knew who she was! Her eyes were pale blue, and her long flaxen curls flowed silkily across her back as she languidly rolled to her side. Her smile was flirtatious, and as he stepped closer, she held out her hand. "What about your rules about inter-office relationships?" He queried as he sank down beside her. Instead of answering, she leaned in, her lips hovering millimeters away from his. He breathed in sharply as her fingers buried in his hair. And then, slowly, she darted out her tongue, caressing his lower lip. Before he could think, he wrapped his hands around her jaw and pulled her to him, kissing her hungrily. Still keeping one hand in his hair, she used the other to tear at the buttons of his shirt. He wasted no time in helping, tugging the garment free from his waistband. Dropping his head a little, moving his hands to her shoulders, he pressed tiny kisses down her neck, enjoying the feel of her shuddering slightly at his touch. His hands slid down her sides as he worked his way across her collarbone. She arched back, one hand still in his hair, and one dragging lightly across his shoulder blades. Suddenly he jerked as the fingers in his hair curled, digging sharp nails into his scalp. Pulling back, he gasped…

Erin's cold eyes were staring back at him, a mocking smile on her face. He tried to push her away, but her hand was locked on his skull. Leaning in tightly, she breathed on his earlobe. "How fast can you run?"

With a noise of disgust, he placed both hands on her shoulders and shoved, ignoring the clump of hair she took away with her. Her body fell away, her grin plastered on her face… and she vanished. He stared at the spot for a second… confused and shaken.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye… a shape with heavy hands and hunched shoulders. He lurched around quickly, but the motion off-balanced him, and he stumbled off the bed, hitting his shoulder on the floor, hard.

0o0o0o0

Shawn grunted as he collided with something solid. Feeling slightly dizzy, he cracked open one eye to see the apparition from his dream had vanished. Glancing to the side, he saw the underside of his bed, and groaned. Again? What, did he need bedrails or something? Seriously!! Slapping a hand over his eyes, he wearily let his mind play over the nightmare. Well, actually, as far as nightmares went… this one wasn't quite as bad. In fact, ignoring the second act… it had been pretty damn awesome…

Gus pounded on his door.

"Shawn, hey, you okay?"

He yanked himself back on the bed as Gus pushed open the door a crack.

"I heard something crash... you alright?"

Shawn chuckled weakly. "Gus, hey… No… no problems at all… just, you know… doing my thing." Wow, that just explained it perfectly…

Gus nodded, obviously used to cryptic answers when it came to his friend. "Uh huh. Look, don't get me wrong, but I think this place is starting to make you stir-crazy. I'm not sure how you've managed not to go a little nuts already, so how about we get out for a while?"

Shawn nodded. "You know Gus, that sounds absolutely fabulous. Give me just a minute to get ready… maybe take a shower, and we can go wherever you want."

The other man was still eyeing him strangely, but finally he nodded, speaking admonishingly as he closed the door. "You know, that's two showers today Shawn, your skin is going to start peeling off if you keep it up…"

Shawn breathed in relief as he found himself alone once more. Standing up, tossing his shirt on the floor as he strode to the shower stall and turned on the spray, he wondered just how cold this water could get.

0o0o0o0

An hour later found both men sitting on a trolley. Actually, Gus was sitting. Shawn was standing, half his body hanging out of the vehicle as he waved to cars and baffled pedestrians.

"Shawn, if we hit a pothole and you fall out, I'm not even telling the conductor. I will happily leave your sorry ass on the street."

Shawn, grinning, gripped the pole tightly in one hand as he let the breeze off the ocean play over his face. Gus's threat was about as serious as a sneeze. "Dude, you so would not. For one thing, I still have the keys to the car in my pocket."

Gus's response was partially muffled by the wind and conversation around him, but Shawn heard enough to make him chuckle. "Seriously, do your parents know you use language like that?"

In spite of the events earlier that day, Shawn was feeling spectacular. It had probably been weeks since he felt this good. He had no intention of questioning it either. Too many of his days had been shrouded in nauseating oppression. The worst fights with his father had never made him feel that bad. Somehow, though, after tossing out that pill bottle… he felt like he'd regained a piece of himself that was lost.

It totally rocked!

The trolley started to slow as it approached the next stop. Behind him, Gus stood, gripping the back of his seat as the vehicle shuddered to a squealing halt next to a group of people waiting to board. Shawn hopped down lightly, waiting as Gus followed, purposefully using the steps provided. Once they were both on level ground, they headed onward towards their goal... slightly to the left and forty-five minutes from their current location.

The drive seemed to pass quickly, filled with the happy banter of the two friends. When he'd offered to let Gus choose their destination, Shawn had been a little worried they'd be spending the evening walking through a giant fish tank, looking at squid and sharks and small neon fish. However, his friend had gleefully surprised him with a far awesomer alternative. Now, as they passed through the ticket counter and received a stamp each on their outstretched hands, Shawn realized there was still something he needed to do. He knew it might be tough… there could possibly be some tears involved, and there would definitely be bribery. However, he hadn't traveled this far to be denied. The only way this day could be truly complete, would be in convincing Gus to go on the Delirium with him.

Just the image of his best friend screaming in horror would be enough to sustain him the rest of the week.

* * *

Okay, even "I" could see Shawn needed to get out of his own head for a while! Anybody who's wondering where they went, it's the Paramount's Great America Amusement Park. Yay rides! 


	7. Not Easy Being Green, & Blue Sucks Too

Monday again.

Shawn sat in the same chair, staring glumly out the window at the same trees while the same white noise machine hummed away indifferently. After his and Gus's trip to the amusement park, the rest of the weekend had sped by blindingly fast. They had gone out again on Sunday, hitting the ballpark, the pier, and a few shops to pick up obnoxious souvenirs for their friends at the department. Shawn even got Lassy a T-shirt proudly proclaiming in bold text, _"Detectives Do It With Cuffs_". Granted, it wasn't specific to San Francisco, but really… who cared?

That evening, they'd hit a few nightclubs, and Shawn had gotten mildly buzzed after three shots of Jagermeister. He thought he might have hit on a cute girl running the bar at one point. He definitely remembered being slapped…

And then it was time to pack it in.

And he was asleep even as he hit the pillow.

And then he had another dream. A bad one.

Gus was gone when he woke up, shaken and sick. The flight back to Santa Barbara had been scheduled to leave at one a.m., and Gus had no intention of letting a tipsy best friend take him to the airport. Instead, they waved to each other as Shawn slipped into his bedroom, not needing to say anything else. Besides, it was only one more week.

But when he woke up, alone, at six in the morning with the residue of his nightmare clinging to his mind like wet tissue… he felt his solitude like a fist in the gut. Never had he wished for company more than at that moment.

Adding to the melancholy was the fact that he had to drag himself to his ten in the morning therapy appointment, mildly hung-over or not. It was definitely not a good day for head shrinking.

Entering the office, he'd offered a less than enthusiastic greeting to Kroger- consisting primarily of monosyllables. The doctor, for his part, merely nodded wordlessly as Shawn dragged himself across the floor to drop lethargically into his regular chair. And then the staring game began, with somewhat altered rules… the doctor staring at the patient while the patient stared out the window. Years of nothing to say to an overbearing father had been excellent training for Shawn. Really, he knew, deep inside, that if he truly wanted to, he could keep silent the entire session.

So why the hell was he opening his mouth?

"I had a dream last night."

Kroger didn't move. His hands remained in his lap, folded neatly like always. His head remained held to his side, intent and unthreatening. But as Shawn spoke, glancing at the other man, he was certain he saw something in that mild gaze sharpen; because until now, he'd said almost nothing about the reason why he was actually here. He'd talked of his father… that one was easy actually. And he'd talked about Gus, his employment history… _'and don't forget when you blurted out the fact that you threw up…'_ Oh yeah, he had to remember that. But somehow, over the course of a week, he'd managed to side-step this one, particularly glaring, emotional hurdle. He wasn't sure why he was feeling so share-y right now either. Maybe it was because he'd tossed out the pills… or maybe he was feeling vuner… uh, lonely since Gus went back to Santa Barbara. Whatever the motivation, his mouth had decided to take over and make him confess the dark and dreary nightmares of his wretched and broken soul.

If he wasn't feeling so moody right now he'd pat himself on the back for that particularly descriptive sentence structure.

His eyes moved up, meeting the noncommittal gaze of Dr. Kroger. The man rubbed a finger across his lips, finally breathing in deeply when Shawn didn't continue.

"Was it a flashback?"

Shawn slowly nodded, swallowing shallowly. He looked down at his hands, wishing suddenly that he had his squishy frog to play with. It always helped when he was thinking about something if he had the little green amphibian to squeeze, making the eyeballs pop from its head…

"Shawn, tell me about this flashback. Was it about the night you were attacked?"

He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. It had been one of the worst yet actually, involving twisted memories of torment, torture, running… and always, always the scarred face of Andrew, hanging just over his shoulder. The end of the dream, the part that finally snapped him awake, had actually been a memory of his first encounter with that… creature. He'd been at the beach, and Andrew had his hands wrapped around Shawn's throat while he held his head underwater. Only this time, Shawn couldn't fight back, because, inexplicably, his hands were bound behind his back. The sensation of drowning had been so acute, he'd woken up gasping desperately for air. And in the first few moments of trying to get his bearings in a room that wasn't really his, he'd wondered if a dream could actually kill someone.

"I know this is difficult, but you need to talk about this."

Shawn felt a rush of sudden anger. "Why? Why do I need to talk about it?"

Kroger shifted to his other side, crossing his legs. "It will help. You need to express what you've been though… or you can't move on…"

He clenched his teeth, surging to his feet with his hands in fists. "What do you want to hear, that he tried to r-r-r…" He swallowed again, shaking his head with his eyes closed.

"Yeah, yeah he tried… he tried but he didn't do it… the cops got there in time… they got there, and arrested him, and dragged him away."

Shawn rubbed his arms as he started pacing back and forth in the room. "But… but then they let him go. They believed him… not me… They believed that… that _monster_… and they let him go and…"

He rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers trembling. "He came for me again. He took out Gus, hit him in the head with something, probably his gun. He threw me against the wall… whispered… whispered at me. I felt him start to move… like he was planning to…" Shawn paused, fighting against the tremor in his voice. Swallowing thickly a few times, he continued. "I hit him with a picture, and went to go check on Gus. He was bleeding pretty bad, but before I could do anything, HE was back. He knocked me down, but then Gus… he was like Rambo you know? Shook off the hit and came back for more. He clubbed An- Andrew with my lava lamp… broke it… and helped me up… but…" Shawn turned towards the window, wrapping his arms around himself. "I couldn't breathe… the rib I broke had shifted… it punctured my lung. Gus got me to the couch, tried to find his phone…" He took a shuddering breath. "I couldn't talk… I couldn't warn him. Andr… he hit him again… I thought he might have killed him at first. He went to get his gun…" His breathing sped up again, and he felt a twist of nausea in his gut.

"Shawn, why don't you sit down."

He shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on the trees outside. He took a few more deep breaths, clenching his hands tightly against the shaking. Finally, still not feeling totally ready, he continued, his voice low. "He sat down by me. By this time I couldn't even move. He started touching me… my face, my neck… and the whole time, he didn't say anything. He just… stared at me… watched me… like he knew I couldn't get away, so he could take his time. At this point, I don't really remember much. I still couldn't breathe well, and I guess something shifted, because all of the sudden I couldn't breathe at all."

He stopped again, walking over to the window and putting one hand on the glass. Like most days, it was fairly sunny out, though there seemed to be a few clouds making a heroic attempt at casting some shade. Certainly not enough for rain though…

His breath misted lightly against the glass, the halo of vapor vanishing almost instantly.

"I guess, right before I passed out completely, the cops arrived. Detective Lassy… Lassiter shot Andrew… killed him. I was totally out by then… and I'm sure you read my medical report." Shawn sighed, finally turning to walk back to his chair. He allowed his legs to unhinge, dropping himself heavily onto the soft cushion. His fingers carded though his hair as he draped one leg over the chair arm. In spite of his relaxed pose, his body was completely tense… waiting for his evaluation. He wondered if they still used shock therapy…

Kroger exhaled, and Shawn turned his head to see the man running a hand over his scalp. After a second, he lowered his arm and tapped the tips of his fingers together in front of himself. Looking up at Shawn, he blinked slowly. "Shawn, I know how hard it probably was for you to share that. It was a terrifying… and extremely personal assault. But… and don't take this badly… but you are still holding back. What you just shared… it felt a bit like you were giving a police report…" Shawn sat up quickly, ready to argue, but Kroger held up his hand to stall him. "Please, just let me finish." He paused, for only a moment, and then continued. "What I need you to do is tell me how this experience affected you emotionally. You don't have to detail it out… but if you can try to articulate…"

Shawn stood again, crossing his arms in frustration. His lips pressed together tightly as he warred with the thoughts and memories racing around in his head. Suddenly, without meaning to, he laughed. "Okay doc… you want to know? You dying to get the inside scoop… the true, chewy essence??" He grinned, tipping his head back for a moment to stare at the ceiling. "I can't forget anything." He said, locking his arms around himself. Turning his head to the side, the frozen smile still locked in place, he clarified. "I've got a photographic memory… do you understand?" He turned, lowering his head as he strode forward and grasped the back of his chair. "Every second, that I was with them… it's right here." He pointed to his temple, then let his arm drop. "I remember every single word… every punch, every kick… I remember thinking I couldn't give up. I even heard my dad's voice… pushing me on, just like always. Can't have the son of Henry Spencer just give up now can we!" He said, raising his voice. "Oh no, you give up and you lose! So I listened… I kept fighting, kept struggling, kept moving forward. When I finally got away, got to the Laundromat… I actually thought I'd done it. But when they caught me again… when…" He lowered his head, his fingers still gripping the back of the chair. "When… Andr… when HE caught me again…" He swallowed, finding it more and more difficult to speak. "I… tried to fight… I tried to… I tried to get away but… but I couldn't. I couldn't and…" his voice dropped to a whisper. "I gave up."

He was silent for some time, staring down at the carpet beneath his feet. The soundlessness around him pressed against his eardrums. Finally, he looked up, his lips curling away from his teeth. "He won. He won because I couldn't… I couldn't f-f-fight him…" He swallowed again, furious at the stinging he felt at the back of his throat. "Yeah, I was rescued… sure. And I thought I might actually be okay… but… then he got right back out… and came right back after me." He released a single laugh, his eyes moist. "You know, I was only able to fight him a second time because I was terrified he'd try to go after Gus next… I couldn't… I couldn't let that happen. But of course… he still beat me again." He looked down again, using the moment to wipe the side of his cheek against his sleeve, sniffing quietly. "He didn't even care that I was p-probably dying w-when he…" he bit his lip, his voice shaking. "When he started… touching m-me." Forcing his gaze up, he stared at Kroger, ignoring the wet trails that ran down his face. His voice was rough as he spoke. "He may not have physically succeeded in what he wanted to do… but it doesn't matter. When I lost consciousness… he was ripping open my shirt. And in my mind… in my mind… it, it happened. And it doesn't matter what anyone else tells me… because… regardless of the fact that he didn't get to my body… he… he got to my head." His shoulders were shaking again by this point, and he walked around the chair to sit down, holding himself tightly together.

"The son of a bitch is dead, and he still can't leave me alone. I go to sleep, and he's just waiting for me, whispering those same damn words… and the worst thing about it? I can't even fight him off. It's getting to the point… I just… want him to get it over with… and… and then maybe he'll move on…" He used one palm to scrape roughly against his face, feeling sick again. The last time he'd felt even remotely like this, at least physically, was in fourth grade; waking up after a three day battle with the flu. He'd referred back to that often as the summer of the black plague. The sound of Kroger standing up made him glance over.

"Listen, I know the last medication didn't work as well as…"

"I'm not taking anything." He said firmly.

The doctor turned towards him, one hand still on his cabinet. "It can help with the dreams…"

"I'm not taking anything." Repeated Shawn, clasping his hands tightly beneath his chin as he stared fixedly just to the right of Kroger. The doctor sighed, dropping his hands as he returned to his chair. He didn't sit however, just stood next to it with his left hand gripping the back.

"I'm not going to lie to you Shawn, you'll probably continue to have these dreams… quite possibly for years. What you're dealing with can't be cured with a quick fix. I can't wave a wand and return you to what you were… but I can offer you some exercises that may help. One exercise, for example, is called diaphragmatic breathing, a special breathing exercise involving slow, deep breaths to reduce anxiety." Shawn immediately laughed, relieved to feel some true amusement again. "Gus will never let me live that down after all the ribbing I gave him for his 'Lamaze' breathing…"

Kroger smiled, stepping forward slightly to ease himself back into his chair. "Well if Gus was using it to deal with stress I can understand, it really does help." He leaned back, letting his arms hang over the armrests. "Another thing we can try is exposure therapy, which gradually exposes a person to what he or she finds most frightening. In your case, this isn't as simple as a fear of attack… but a fear of giving up."

Shawn looked up sharply, his brow furrowed in surprise. "I… wha… I am?"

Kroger nodded, his smile slightly wider. "I was paying attention… that's why they pay me so well."

Shawn was amazed to find himself chuckling in response. "And here I was thinking I had competition… Good to know my job is still safe."

Kroger leaned his head on his fist, eyes gleaming. "Speaking of which, rest assured that what we spoke about earlier is completely confidential."

Shawn took a moment to run the past conversation through his head… and resisted the urge to slap his skull. Looking back at the knowing… somewhat conspiring expression on the other man's face, he smiled weakly. "You know that what a person says under duress is often tinged with many layers of questionable interpretation…"

Kroger nodded, reading easily through the b.s. "Oh, of course…"

0o0o0o0

Slow, steady breaths. Take it in stride, it was all just part of the therapy.

He could do this.

Of course… he wasn't currently trying to face down a sadistic monster with a hankering to share his personal space.

He was, however… preparing to enter an area that had caused him just a teeny bit of trouble a little less than a week ago.

At least he had back-up.

"Look… okay, here's the thing… I don't think you should really be here… at this crime scene… with me." Said Adrian uneasily.

Okay… sorta back-up.

Shawn had been wondering why he'd chosen Adrian as his assistant for this little mission. Really though… it wasn't all that hard to figure out. For one, Gus was gone, and he needed someone with some sort of cop-ish background… or at least a strong pharmaceutical understanding, to act as a decent side-kick. Fortunately, Adrian fit the bill on both counts. Second… well… there actually wasn't a second, and he was gradually making peace with that.

The scene, by this point, had been thoroughly examined by police, as well as forensic techs. The body was long gone, and all that remained were the stains and scattered remnants of the woman that once lived here. Even so, Shawn felt a tremor vibrate along his backbone as he walked past the open bedroom door. No… he wasn't quite ready for that yet.

Turning back towards the kitchen, he paused. Adrian was doing that thing again… hands raised with his body leaning to the side. He was studying the crime scene. "I thought you saw all this last Wednesday…"

Adrian half-shrugged, wincing a little. "I had a hard time… concentrating. You know… because of the vomit…"

Shawn blinked… his face slack. "I'm sorry, did you say, because of the vomit? Wait… you're saying '_I_' distracted you? Dude, I was at the end of the hall on the other side of a thick metal door!"

Adrian shrugged again. "I have a very sensitive nose…"

Okay… make that three things this guy had in common with Gus…

Shawn covered his face with his hands, tilting his head towards the ceiling. After a second of silent thought, he dropped his arms and walked through the living room again. Casually, he glanced towards the wall at the row of women's shoes… and stopped. His gaze sharpened on a particular pair that just seemed out of place… And suddenly he gasped.

0o0o0o0

Adrian rubbed his forehead as he walked through the kitchen again. Part of him was still a little distracted; convinced he could smell the odor of vomit wafting through the air. He should have brought a mask.

Hands held at waist level, he examined the counters, cupboards, refrigerator… all looked completely normal. But still… something… just wasn't right… He looked at the floor again, his brows lowering as he noticed something… off. And suddenly, his jaw dropped open.

0o0o0o0

Shawn and Adrian straightened, staring at each other from opposite sides of the room. In that same moment, both of them yelled out with complete astonishment,

"I SOLVED THE CASE!"


	8. Not Enough I'm A Crimefighting Genius?

Leland Stottlemeyer leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. On the whole, it had been a fantastic day. This morning, after repeated threats and endless cups of too hot, over-brewed cop coffee, he'd finally scored a forensic report on the apartment murder. It was a slam dunk. Even better, they had managed to solve it without Adrian's help- even though the skilled detective had been right there in the room, examining everything.

Apparently, the late Miss Sarah Ruel, former secretary to the Law offices of Stack, Stiener, and Brass, had been having a not so secret affair with her boss, Mr. Larry Stack, Senior prosecuting attorney at the firm. Ten witnesses confirmed that the couple had been absent from the attorney's office that afternoon. Stack's DNA had been found all over the scene, and nobody could confirm his alibi that he'd left before the time of the murder and had gotten a flat tire on the way back to the office.

Stretching his arms over his head, Stottlemeyer hunched forward over his desk again. In about twenty minutes, he'd be leaving to pick up Stack at his office. Right now, he wanted to examine the forensic report one more time. He couldn't afford any mistakes…

_"…otally solved it first!"_

_  
__"…at you're talking about, it… vious I was the first one to…"_

Leland looked up, his satisfied smirk slowly fading. Though muffled through the door… he knew that voice… and with ominous shock, realized he recognized the other one as well…

About that time, something started to knot up in his left shoulder.

"Oh no…" He muttered, placing a hand over his eyes.

0o0o0o0

"Captain!"

"Captain!"

"I solved the case!"

"No I did!"

"You weren't in the kitchen!"

"I found the shoe!"

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE HELL UP!"

It was bad enough when it was just Adrian… but to have two of them…

Standing by his desk, the two men hovering before him with badly suppressed excitement, Leland scratched the back of his head. He could see they were both nearly bursting to share their information, but he wasn't certain his brain could deal with this without a shot of something first. As he shifted his feet, both men leaned forward, mouths opening.

"STOP!"

The Captain held up both hands, backing around his desk slowly as though he were fending off an attack by wolves. Keeping one hand raised, his eyes riveted on the squirming detectives, he reached out with his other hand and snagged his chair. Lowering himself into it slowly, he finally nodded his head. "Okay, tell me what you found out, BUT..." he said, holding up a finger, "one at a time… and Monk gets to go first."

"But that's not fair!" Blurted the younger of the two men.

Stottlemeyer folded his hands in his lap, leaning back with half a smile. "Well that's just too bad." He replied. "I know Adrian Monk, and I know what to do if I want to shut him up. As far as I'm concerned, that's a point in his favor."

Adrian wasted no time in taking advantage of the moment. "It wasn't the boyfriend… at the apartment…"

"It was a sneaky, devious hunter… a dirty, nasty baddie with a taste for expensive footwear…" added Shawn rapidly.

"Hey, what part of 'one at a time' don't you get?" shouted Stottlemeyer at the self-proclaimed psychic. The other man didn't even have the grace to look chagrined. In fact, he suddenly threw back his head, lifting his arm dramatically as he stumbled to the wall.

"I'm seeing… Pravda… Corinthian leather… diamond studs…"

Stottlemeyer's eyes narrowed, and he raised his hand, but Monk started speaking first. "Captain, here's what happened…"

Shawn continued his act, raising his feet delicately, and wiggling his toes in the air. "Such lovely ankles can only be appreciated with thin little straps…"

"The secretary, Sarah Ruel, wasn't just having an affair with Larry Stack…" said Monk.

"… and they must have worked wonders because they caught someone's wandering eye…" continued Shawn.

"They must have met during the trial…" said Adrian, excitedly.

"A pair of star crossed crazy lovers…" added Shawn, wrinkling his lip.

"They started meeting each other frequently over the following weeks…" interjected Monk.

"Like a smitten kitten, she thought it was forever…" said Shawn, intently.

"And then something changed…" interrupted the older detective.

"The sneaky secretary decided to shoot for a raise…" countered the psychic.

"She started seeing her boss…" said Monk, raising his hands.

"But she wasn't sneaky enough…" shot back Shawn, curling his wrists.

"She must have been discovered…" continued Adrian.

"And her other lover found her out!" shouted the younger man, bracing himself against the wall.

"The killer waited until Mr. Stack left the apartment…" said Monk, his eyes intense.

"And snuck in like a creepy little gecko…" hissed Shawn, pretending to crawl along the wall.

"Sarah Reul didn't stand a chance…" added Adrian softly.

"It was over and done, and Stack went down… figuratively speaking…" shrugged the psychic, dropping his hands.

"But then the killer felt remorse…" continued Monk.

"The relationship with Sarah must have been true love…" nodded Shawn, clasping his elbows.

"It had to end…" said Adrian forcefully.

"And in true romantic fashion, the murderer followed the sneaky secretary in death." Finished the younger man.

Stottlemeyer's eyes had darted back and forth between the two men, his expression frozen as he realized stopping this show was beyond his level of ability to act upon. When the two men finally reached the end, he raised his brows.

"And interesting story… more that I could possibly tell you… but you left out one, rather glaring detail."

Adrian and Shawn shared a look, their expressions deeply confused before turning back to the Captain.

"What?" Asked Shawn, appearing to be genuinely baffled.

Leland laughed, shaking his head. "The name of the killer?"

The two men blinked, glancing at each other one more time. Shawn held out one hand generously, and Adrian responded by shaking his head. Finally, they turned to the Captain at the same time, speaking together.

"Dayton Vanderhill."

Shawn grinned, turning to his temporary partner as he thrust out his fist.

Adrian's brows pulled together in confusion. "What… what do you…"

"Come on dude, knuckle-kiss!" Said Shawn excitedly.

Adrian rolled his shoulder. "Wait… wait, I know this one..." Lifting his hand hesitantly, he formed it into a loose fist. The psychic smiled wider, responding with a healthy bump in celebration.

Adrian, in spite of immediately grabbing a wipe to clean his fingers, managed a small smile.

On his side of his desk, Stottlemeyer dropped his head on his arms, his shoulders slumping defeatedly.

"Good god…"

0o0o0o0

"So… Adrian Monk saw the dents in the floor, and realized they'd been caused by heels… but they didn't belong to Sarah Ruel, because he'd noticed she had bad arches, and couldn't have worn high-heeled shoes?"

Stottlemeyer nodded to his lieutenant. "Yuuuup."

"And Mr. Spencer saw an expensive pair of sandals near the entryway, and surmised that they were too expensive for the victim, therefore must have belonged to the killer?"

"Uuuu-huh."

"And then you called the CSI lab and had them rush a DNA swab from the shoes, and confirmed that they had been worn by Miss Vanderhill."

"You got it."

Disher shook his head, a look of childish delight on his beaming face. "Wow! Sir, that must have been really amazing!"

Stottlemeyer clapped his hand on the younger man's shoulder, walking them towards the door. "Randy, for the record, if I ever see Adrian Monk and Shawn Spencer in the same room again… you have my full authorization to shoot me."

With that, he walked from the office.

It seemed he had an apology to make to a certain attorney…

0o0o0o0

Tuesday morning.

"So you solved the case."

Shawn was still smiling, his chin resting on his clasped fists. "It was sorta more of a joint venture… Monk-man actually managed to contribute a little bit… See, I'm more of a 'Big Picture' sort of guy… I leave pesky details to the sidekicks."

Dr. Kroger chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm having a difficult time picturing Adrian Monk as a sidekick."

Shawn sat back, resting his arms over the sides of the chair. "He tried to deny it, but I think he was secretly excited by the title. I was even thinking of having special business cards printed up for him, in case we ever need to work together again."

The doctor grinned. "I'm sure he'd greatly appreciate that."

There was a relaxed silence between them for a while. Today… it wasn't quite so oppressive in the room as it had been yesterday morning. Apparently mental purging could be as cleansing as the physical version. Still, Shawn wasn't about to make a habit of it. One soul-bearing heart-on-his-sleeve moment of utter and complete degradation was more than enough for the year. And he'd done it too many times since…

He swallowed. Nope, keep you head in the game… no time to start wavering… stay cool…

"I'd say it was a very successful test of my stress wouldn't you? I mean," he continued rapidly, "I didn't freak out… didn't paint the floor with that chili-dog I had for lunch… didn't even have a minor visual hallucination… unless you want to count those two seconds I swore Patrick Swayze was sitting in the corner with a clay pot…"

Kroger was still smiling slightly. "Of course there'll be good days… and I expect you'll have many more. The important thing is to not get discouraged on the bad ones." He sat up a little, his eyes sharpening. "Now, as much as you may dislike it, we still need to talk some more… about yesterday."

Shawn felt his desperately restored euphoria beginning to shift beneath him. Whoa, hold on, stop the bumper cars, passenger wants off! There was no reason to rehash this, he was good! He'd fixed it! He was better dammit! But despite his protests, he felt himself steadily sliding…

He inhaled sharply, determinedly fixing a smile on his face in spite of the thoughts that tried to rip it away. He was just fine… it was just memories… In fact, why deal with them at all? He'd push them away, and he'd be just like before. He'd heard of people… people who'd been through terrible ordeals that simply 'forgot' that anything had happened to them. He could do that, he was sure of it. And after all, what would be the harm right? If it was forgotten, it couldn't affect him… and he could return to the free-spirited life he'd been cruising through before any of this shit ever happened. He just had to focus.

"Shawn…"

_No… don't ask anything. Just leave it alone, I'm perfectly fine_.

He raised his right hand, closing his eyes as he rested it against his temple.

"Shawn…"

_I can do this… I don't need this… it has no bearing on my life… I just need to move on…_

"Shawn, open your eyes."

_Sorry, Shawn isn't accepting messages right now, he's currently pounding a stake through a very nasty vampire._

"Shawn."

The voice was soft, compassionate… and firm. He opened his eyes before he could stop himself. Kroger was leaning forward, his eyes staring at Shawn steadily.

"It isn't going to just go away. I know you wish you could pretend like you were never attacked… or that you were able to beat the bad guy on your own. You probably think that if you just will it, you can lock it all up in a closet somewhere. But Shawn, people that do that… it never stays locked away. Eventually, it comes out again… and it's always worse when it does."

Shawn faced away, squaring his jaw and refusing to speak.

"What we talked about yesterday was a start… but a single conversation isn't enough. What you've said so far has been about the attack itself… how you were afraid because Andrew hurt you. But it was more than just the assault that affected your thoughts. What I want you to talk about now is how this has affected your day to day life. What do you do differently since the attack?"

He didn't want to talk any more. He didn't want to keep seeing those images! Every time he came in this room… it was like a trigger… and before long, that faithful tape recorder in his brain kicked on and started playing… always sticking on one particular moment… and replaying… and replaying…

_"I've been thinking about you… I've been thinking about you… I've been thinking about you…"_

His heart drummed in his chest, and he had to bite his lip to keep it from trembling.

Why! Why did he have to remember? Damn it! If his dad hadn't insisted he pay attention to every damn thing, every damn moment of every damn day…

_I'm not supposed to be afraid again- I did the stupid exercise- I went to the crime scene… I even solved a case! What more am I supposed to do!?_

His throat felt tight.

Rubbing his hand across his eyes, Shawn was disturbed to find moisture. Unbelievingly, he pulled back, staring at the small drops on the tips of his fingers. When had he started…? Shaking his head, he rubbed both palms over his lids, wiping away the rest of the humiliating evidence of his current mood.

"I already told you… I've had a few bad dreams, no big deal."

Despite his efforts, he felt like he was right back where he'd been yesterday. Kroger had stung him with his words. Perceptive as they were, they still grated on him. At what point could he be allowed to just deal with this on his own?

"How many times do you dream Shawn?"

He clenched his teeth tightly… to the point his jaw ached. What the hell difference did it make anyhow?

"Once a week… twice a week?"

A muscle in his cheek jumped.

"Shawn…"

He snapped.

"EVERY NIGHT! OKAY?? EVERY DAMN NIGHT!" He was on his feet before he realized it, burying both hands in his hair. "I feel him in my head… And no matter how many times I go through this, HE WON'T LEAVE!" Shawn ground to a stop, biting back his sudden fury… somewhat startled by his own anger. He managed to contain it, but it was still there, simmering just beneath his control. How the hell had this happened again?! Ten minutes ago, he'd felt great! Solving that murder had made him feel real again… like he'd snowboarded off a cliff wearing a jetpack… but better! It was more exhilarating than anything he could ever remember feeling.

Yet… in the span of minutes, it vanished as though it hadn't even been there.

He felt furious, defensive… and tired to death of talking about this… this bullshit! What business was it of anybody else anyhow? Was it sick fascination? Did Kroger get off on hearing him talk about what it felt like to have Andrew's erec… body… pressing against him? Did he need to hear all the details of the dreams that followed? How last night, Erin had been back, taunting him while her playmate beat the crap out of him in the back of the pickup… How he woke up, sweating, screaming for his dad like a five year old?

It wasn't going to help!

_"…it could ultimately mean an end to your detective business…" _

No. He wouldn't let it.

"You know, it's perfectly normal to feel angry."

"Really." He shot back, crushing the back of his chair in a tight grip. "Well it isn't normal for me!" He straightened, clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides. Finally, he shook his head. "I can't deal with this right now… I gotta go."

"Shawn… Shawn wait…"

He was already striding towards the door, ignoring Dr. Kroger who had stood to come after him.

"Shawn, please… just…"

"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!" He screamed, backing with his hands raised. As Kroger stepped away, a surprised look on his face, Shawn whirled back around and pushed through the door.

Forget this… he'd deal with it on his own.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:**

Wait..whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa... Dude! What are you doing? You're supposed to stay and talk!! Okay, so totally did not expect him to do that! I guess this means the next chapter will be posted when I can track this boy down and ask him what the hell he was thinking! Oh, and if any of you see him, tell him he's not allowed to walk out on any more sessions. Thanks!

More Notes: Thanks so much for the fabulous reviews, you guys are truly fantasic!!!! I'm honored!


	9. Who You Gonna Call

He'd been driving for hours… ignoring the ringing of his cell... finally turning it off altogether. At first, he hadn't planned on a destination… he just needed to get out, get away from the memories and the stifling compression of the office… and Dr. Kroger… forcing him to keep picking at the unhealing wound. About an hour into his trip, he considered jogging over to Lake Tahoe… but that would mean turning around, and the next exit wasn't for twenty miles. Not that it was such a big deal to change direction… he just didn't feel like slowing down…

Three hours after that, he was gassing up at some no-name station thirty miles outside of Monterey. After filling the tank, he wandered in to pay. The rack of sandwiches caught his eye, and he realized he hadn't eaten since that morning. He examined the fare, unimpressed by the selection of salami, ham, and turkey. The egg-salad was not even a consideration. Giving up on the triangle shaped packages, he grabbed a spicy burrito in a red wrapper. Tossing it in the small microwave oven on the counter next to the rotating hotdog rack, he snagged a twenty ounce paper cup from a stack by the cappuccino machine. Filling it to the top with steaming Hazelnut, he blew on the liquid and took a careful sip before capping it. He'd still managed to burn his tongue. The microwave beeped at that point, so he retrieved his food and took his purchases to the counter.

Ten minutes later, he was back on the road.

0o0o0o0

The newspaper crinkled in his hands. The pages turned slowly, and for all intents and purposes, he was scanning the articles with thorough attention. However, if asked, Henry would be hard pressed to recall a single headline.

Three years.

He had once gone three years without speaking to his son. Granted, it was the kid's idea… he'd wanted to spend time with his mom, and Henry had long ago given up on trying to advise the boy in that area. And really, it wasn't like the woman was evil… maybe a bit manipulative… certainly self-centered… But his son had always been a bit blind when it came to women… and that included his mother. In any event, he'd made no comment about it, and figured some time apart might actually be what both of them needed. And it had been okay. He knew the kid was moving around a lot during those years… never able to keep a job more than a few months. But then, he'd grown used to that. He had to admit though, when Shawn took off for Thailand, he'd been just a little… disconcerted. And he'd never have even known about that if a friend who worked in the customs department hadn't mentioned it over drinks one night…

Henry finally gave up on pretense, tossing the paper to the side. Three years without a single word shared between them, and not once did he really worry about what Shawn was doing. But now… now it had only been a week and three days… and he couldn't stop thinking about his kid.

Leaning forward, he grabbed his coffee cup to take a sip, only to realize it had grown cold. Pushing himself to his feet, he made his way to the kitchen for a refill. He was just starting to pour when his cell rang. Setting the pot back down, he walked back to the living room, answering the phone on the forth ring.

"Hello."

_"Is this Mr. Spencer?"_

Henry didn't recognize the voice. "Yes… who am I speaking to?"

_"My name is Dr. Charles Kroger, I'm the therapist working with your son Shawn."_

At his words, Henry leaned back against his couch. "What did he do?"

_"He left his appointment this morning. He was fairly upset, but I was hoping he'd return to complete his session. After some time, I tried to call him, but he didn't answer his phone. I also called his apartment, but the landlord told me he hadn't seen him since this morning. To be honest with you, I'm a little concerned considering his state of mind when I saw him last."_

Henry groaned, rubbing his free hand across his eyes. Typical. "Look, Dr. Kroger, Shawn is temperamental, always has been. If I were to guess, he probably just went for a long drive to cool off. I'm sure by tomorrow he'll come walking back in like nothing had happened. Trust me, he lives for drama."

Kroger didn't sound convinced, but acknowledged Henry could have a point. With the assurance that the other man would call if he heard from his son, Kroger hung up.

Henry stared at the phone for a while after the call ended. In spite of what he'd said to Kroger… something just didn't feel right. Shawn knew that if he didn't complete his sessions, Karen wouldn't give him any new cases… and he'd eventually lose his business. Shawn was flighty… known for skipping light-heartedly from one job to the next. And yet… somehow…

Henry flipped open his phone again to dial. It rang twice before a familiar voicemail picked up. _"Greetings. You have reached the voicemail of Shawn Spencer, psychic. I knew you were going to call… but leave a message… anyway."_ Henry pinched the bridge of his nose impatiently until the beep sounded.

"Shawn, call me." He said, shutting the phone again. Actually, he'd be pretty surprised if Shawn did call him back. Of all the messages he'd left for his son, they were returned about twenty-five percent of the time; usually only if a threat were included. He shoved the phone in his pocket, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers against his biceps. Why was he feeling so anxious? Rolling his left shoulder, he forced himself to walk around the couch and sit down, fully intending to actually read his paper this time. Instead, he found himself pulling out his phone again. When the call picked on the other end, he cleared his throat. "Gus, it's Henry."

0o0o0o0

Kroger tried Shawn's cell twice more, with no success. He also called Shawn's landlord a second time, who had the same answer as before, no sign of the man. He spent the next several minutes staring at the phone, debating. It was easily possible he was over-reacting… Shawn's father had sounded convinced the young man was just blowing off steam. But the way Shawn had reacted just before he stormed out… it was more that just frustration. Kroger wasn't nearly so certain as the man's father that Shawn would be returning. And in spite of his reluctance, he knew of only one other person he could call that might know where he might have gone.

The man answered after two rings.

"This is Adrian Monk."

0o0o0o0

Adrian hung up the phone, straightening his sleeve as he turned back to the refrigerator. He had been in the process of putting away his groceries when the phone interrupted his work. He was just reaching into a bag to grab a jar of green olives when Natalie appeared with his last two bags. Setting them on the counter, she took a second to catch her breath. "Who called?" She asked, grabbing a few plastic containers to transfer various grocery items into such as chips and crackers. Adrian poured off olive juice in the sink before dumping the small green fruit into a round Tupperware. "That was Dr. Kroger. He wanted to know if I'd heard from Shawn Spencer."

Natalie turned, pausing in the process of pouring crackers into a flat container. "Why did he need to know?"

Adrian tilted his head, examining the date on a jar of preserves. Two days to go… but no sense in taking chances. He pitched it into the trash. "He said Mr. Spencer left his session early, and he was wondering if I knew where he might have gone." Sliding the juice to the side, he made room for the carrots.

Natalie was still in the same position, the box of crackers held at an angle. "Why would he think you know where he is?"

Adrian straightened, folding an empty bag into neat quarters. "That's what I said. I haven't even seen the guy since yesterday when he tried to horn in on my case."

Natalie frowned. "Dr. Kroger must be really worried about him if he called you."

"I'm sure he's fine, pass me the bread would you?" Adrian replied, holding out a hand. Instead of responding, Natalie crossed her arms. Adrian stretched a little, pointing to the loaf on the counter. "It's just there, next to your elbow. Natalie…"

"Mr. Monk, I think you should help him."

Adrian dropped his arm. "Natalie, he's a grown man for heaven's sake. He can take care of himself! It's not as if he needs a babysitter or something."

Natalie dropped her chin. "Well you're a grown man…"

"I don't have a babysitter, I have an assistant. And right now I need you to assist me by passing me the bread!"

The woman glanced to the side, lifting the bread by its edge. "You mean this bread?"

Adrian tilted his body. "Yes, that bread. Do you see any other bread in the kitchen? No, that's why I had to buy replacement bread."

Natalie pursed her lips. "Tell you what Mr. Monk. You call back Dr. Kroger, and I'll give you your bread back." Turning, she started to walk to the door, bread in tow.

"Wait, Natalie… you can't hold bread hostage!"

He took two steps after her. "I'm telling the Captain!"

Natalie kept going until she reached the door. "Last chance Mr. Monk."

"Wait…"

Her hand was on the door handle, and she slowly started to ease it down. Adrian caved. "Okay, fine, you win… I'll call Dr. Kroger. Now can I have my bread back?"

Natalie rocked the loaf back and forth in her hand. "After you call him."

Rolling his shoulders, Adrian glared for a moment, then walked back to the phone.

0o0o0o0

The apartment was a disaster, at least as far as Adrian was concerned. At Natalie's insistence, he'd agreed to examine the temporary home of Mr. Spencer. His second conversation with Dr. Kroger had relieved the doctor somewhat, but only left Adrian more agitated. He was standing by his assertion that the guy didn't need his help.

Walking through the kitchen, he noticed a few dishes in the sink, desperate to be washed. A box of fruit cereal sat on the counter, the flap open and a few colorful pieces lying nearby. Unable to resist, Adrian swept the few bits of cereal off the counter and closed the box. Turning around, he walked back to the sink and opened the lower cupboards to toss the scraps in the trash… and paused. Something in the garbage caught his eye. Disposing of the cereal, he reached in his breast pocket and retrieved his pen. Using the tip, he hooked the small item out of the trash and raised it to eye-level.

"What is that?" Asked Natalie over his shoulder.

He rotated his hand. "It's an empty prescription bottle. It looks like Dr. Kroger prescribed Remeron."

Natalie looked closer at the bottle. "What's Remeron?"

Adrian lowered the bottle and allowed it to slide off the tip of his pen to rest on the table. Using the tip, he tapped at the bottle until it sat with the label centered forward. "It's for depression… but it's also given to people who are…" He frowned, something else occurring to him. Straightening, he slipped his pen back in his pocket and continued through the living room, and then to the bedroom.

"Mr. Monk, what were you going to say?" Asked Natalie, following a short distance behind him.

There was something on the bedroom carpet. Kneeling, Adrian wasn't the least surprised to see a small pill. There were more scattered along the baseboards where a casual clean-up wouldn't have found them. The dosage on the bottle should have been enough to last a month. Given that the bottle had been tossed already, it was obvious Shawn had stopped taking the pills. This just confirmed it.

"Mr. Monk," started Natalie, kneeling down beside him. "What else is it prescribed for?"

He stared down at the small pill, an ominous feeling growing inside him. "Suicide."

0o0o0o0

After the discovery at Shawn's rental, Adrian and Natalie had hurried back to the car and headed for the SFPD. On the way, Adrian called to make sure the Captain would still be there when they arrived. After that, he dialed Dr, Kroger to ask about Shawn's history. Unsurprisingly, Kroger wouldn't give it to him.

"Adrian, you know I can't reveal another patient's records. It's a serious breach of doctor patient confidentiality."

"Yes, but this could be serious…"

"I'm sorry, but I can't give you that information."

After hanging up, Adrian tapped on his pant-leg. There had to be some other way… he needed to see those records… and then it came to him. The way Mr. Spencer had acted at the crime scene that first time… the way he stiffened when he entered the bedroom… what he said. And again, when Adrian had asked him about it at his house… how Shawn had looked frightened…

That, combined with the prescription, told the story. Shawn had been assaulted in some way… and he'd finally cracked. But was he going to try to kill himself? Or was he…

"Mr. Monk, we're here."

He looked up, realizing they'd arrived at the station. Grabbing the handle, he hurried from the vehicle and up the sidewalk to the front doors.

It took only minutes to get to the Captain's office. Stottlemeyer was waiting for him behind his desk, a look of trepidation on his face. "Look, Monk, if you're here to tell me you solved another case…"

"Captain, I need you to get a file transferred from the Santa Barbara police department."

Stottlemeyer squinted his eyes. "And why do I need to do that?"

Adrian raised his arms emphatically. "It's important, a man's life could be at stake!"

The Captain stared at him for a few seconds, as though trying to determine whether or not it was a joke. "You do know Santa Barbara is a bit outside my jurisdiction. They're not going to want to just hand over a file for… who is the file for?"

Adrian glanced at Natalie before looking back. "Shawn… Shawn Spencer. The guy who says he's a psychic…"

"Monk I know who Shawn Spencer is… regretfully… But what I don't know is, for one, how you even know he HAS a file, and two, what motivation I have for requesting it."

Natalie stepped forward. "Captain, Mr. Monk thinks Mr. Spencer is having an emotional breakdown and might become suicidal. He needs to see the records to find out what happened."

Stottlemeyer shook his head wearily. "That still doesn't answer my first question. How do you know he even has a file?"

Adrian tilted back his head. "I just do. Can we make the call… please?"

The Captain stared at him for a few more seconds before finally lowering his eyes. "Fine… okay… I'll make the call. But don't cry to me when the excuse of 'just because' isn't enough to get us a copy."

0o0o0o0

Karen Vick typed three more words, then paused to grab the phone. With her luck, it would be sometime next week when she finally finished with this.

"Chief Vick." She said briskly, lifting her coffee cup to take a sip, and grimacing… lukewarm.

_"Chief, hi, my name is Captain Leland Stottlemeyer of the SFPD."_

Karen set her mug down, shifting the phone to her shoulder as she began typing swiftly again. "What can I do for you Captain?" Damn, that paragraph was all wrong… She deleted half of it and began again.

_"I know this probably sounds like it's coming completely out of the blue… but I was wondering if you might have some information on a Shawn Spencer…"_

Karen fumbled the phone, nearly dropping it before catching it with one hand as she straightened, her typing forgotten. "Did you say Shawn Spencer? Wait, you said you're from the SFPD…" She groaned, her imagination taking over. "Oh my god… look, we use him on cases now and then. I know he sounds like a lunatic, but he actually does a great…"

_"That isn't what I'm calling about, actually…"_ Interrupted Stottlemeyer.

Karen rotated her chair a bit, sitting forward. The tone of the man's voice had her alarms sounding instantly, and her voice was suddenly hushed as she spoke. "What happened…"

_"Chief… by chance, was there an incident involving an attack on Mr. Spencer at some time in the past?"_

Karen was silent for several seconds as she processed the question. Why would… "What makes you ask that… has Mr. Spencer…"

There was a sound of several voices talking on the other end, it almost sounded like a hushed argument, and then the Captain was back on.

_"Look, Mr. Spencer walked out on his therapy session this morning, and nobody has heard from him since. That was over eight hours ago. He never returned to his apartment, and there is some concern he may… be going through some kind of a breakdown. Now if there is something we can use to try to determine his next move, we can catch up to him before something happens."_

Vick sat frozen in place as she tried to reconcile the Shawn Spencer she thought she knew, with the implied version Captain Stottlemeyer was presenting. There was just no way… no way… But even as she thought this… she found herself, reluctantly, answering his question. "Approximately two months ago Shawn Spencer was kidnapped and beaten repeatedly through the course of a night. His attackers, a man and a woman, were captured in the act. Unfortunately, through a combination of circumstances, the male assailant was released… only to have him immediately attack Mr. Spencer again. In apprehending the suspect, police were required to use deadly force. In this second attack, Mr. Spencer nearly lost his life."

This time, the pause was on the other end of the phone. After about ten seconds, the Captain was back. _"Chief, I have a consultant working with me, Adrian Monk…"_

Karen sat up quickly, she'd heard that name before… "Wait, wait, I know him… I've heard of some of the cases he's solved…"

_"I'm not surprised, his name does get around."_ Came the reply. Karen could swear she heard a small amount of irritation in his tone. The Captain continued. _"If we could get a copy of the police report, Monk is convinced he can determine Mr. Spencer's next move."_

Her gut warred with her mind. In spite of her concern, Shawn deserved a level of privacy on this matter. On the other hand, if he really was in danger… She closed her eyes, kneading her forehead with one hand. Finally she sighed. "Very well. Where am I transferring this to?"

0o0o0o0

It only took thirty seconds of scanning.

"I know where he's going." Said Adrian.

Captain Stottlemeyer looked over Monk's shoulder to see what he was pointing at. "Are you sure?" He was well aware the other detective saw things most people wouldn't… or couldn't. But this… it seemed like a stretch even for him.

Adrian nodded, turning back to the screen. "I'm certain of it."

Stottlemeyer rubbed his forehead. "I'm sure you are Monk, and I know I'll probably regret asking, but what makes you so convinced that's where he's going?"

Adrian looked down at his hand, the fingers of his right moving to caress the gold ring on his left. "I would."

The solid assertion, though not what he was looking for, would have to do. "Okay, fine… I'll take your word on this. But if what you're saying is true, it is officially out of our hands. This is now a matter for the Santa Barbara cops to deal with."

The Captain reached out and picked up his phone again.

0o0o0o0

After hanging up with the San Francisco Captain a second time, Karen rubbed her eyes. In spite of the ridiculousness of the idea… it just rang to true in her own mind. If her experiences with the man had taught her one thing, it was that he was more than capable of doing what was least expected.

Standing from her desk, she started to walk for her door when, through the glass, she saw someone striding towards her that made her drop her head in her hands. Not now…

"Karen…"

"Henry, now is not a good time." Her attempt to side-step the man was a pitiful failure. He parked himself before her with his arms crossed, and though she glared mightily, it was a weak bluff at best. Finally, sighing heavily, she gestured to her desk. "Fine, have a seat." He brushed past her, and she closed the door before returning to her chair.

"Something's happened to Shawn…" he started without preamble.

The Chief raised her hand. "I already know that Henry. I've spent the last half-hour going back and forth with the San Francisco police department."

Henry sat back, his expression tightening. "And why would the SFPD be involved?"

It really wasn't a question, and though she felt her hackles rise at his demanding tone, Karen bit back a retort, and told him everything. When she finished, Henry stood.

"Fine, I'll take care of this."

She lowered her brows. "Now you wait just a minute… he may be your son, but this isn't your call to make Mr. Spencer!"

"Isn't it?" He shot back. "This isn't a police matter anymore Karen, unless you want to arrest him for trespassing. This is about my kid." He turned to walk out, but at the last moment, paused, his shoulders relaxing a little. "Knowing what he's dealing with, do you really want him to share that with the rest of the police force?" He asked softly.

Karen dropped her head. "Okay. But call me as soon as you find him… alright?"

Henry stood there a second longer without speaking. Finally, with a sharp nod, he opened the door and left.

0o0o0o0

He'd sat in the car for nearly twenty minutes before finally turning off the engine and exiting the vehicle. Just standing in that driveway again was nearly enough to send him reeling back to the confines of his rental. He felt an almost overwhelming panic settle over him, and he had to swallow several times while trying to control his breathing.

It was right here that Andrew had grabbed him when he escaped. He could still feel the way those thick fingers had wrapped around his waistband… trying to yank him back.

Ten yards away, the house sat amidst a tangle of overgrown grass and weeds. A heavy cluster of trees crowded at the sides, throwing deep shadows over everything. Bad enough to come here at all… but up till now, Shawn hadn't even paid attention to the fact that the sun had sunk low in the sky. In another hour, it would be completely dark.

More than anything, he just wanted to run back to the car, throw it into the highest gear, and peel out of that driveway without a single backward glance. After all, he tried right? Nobody could fault him for not wanting to go though with this. Nobody would ever know he'd even come here. With those logical arguments fully in place, he prepared to turn around… only to find himself walking forward instead.

He was almost to the front door before stopping again. By this point, his hands were shaking quite badly. This was where Erin had slapped him when he tried to look around. She hadn't struck him squarely, but her nails had left three stinging gouges on his cheek. He just hadn't noticed it at the time… being somewhat concerned with other matters. Shawn clenched his teeth at the thought of that… bitch. At least she wouldn't be getting out for some time. He hoped she was enjoying the amenities at the woman's correctional facility. Staring at the door in front of him, he clasped his elbows tightly. God, he did not want to do this. And he knew… he really didn't have to. Unfortunately, the voice that kept trying to assure him of that was growing steadily weaker… and before he could stop himself, he reached out and grasped the handle.

The door was open.

He'd been telling himself all along that it would be locked… and he'd taken solace from the realization of knowing he wouldn't actually be able to enter the building. But as the door opened, the last of his excuses bled away. He was really doing this…

His brain seemed frozen as he moved forward, stepping over the threshold. The feel of that thick carpet beneath his feet was revolting… even through his shoes. His breathing was shallow as he walked through the living room, sickened by the slightly stale smell of decay in the air. He couldn't hear anything other than his own footsteps. The walls were dingy paneled wood, like he remembered, and the same orange sofa sat pressed under the boarded up picture window just like before. On top of the small, dusty television was a clay ashtray… still with four cigarette stubs resting in it. Nothing had changed. Finally, with great reluctance, he slid his eyes to the far wall… with the scratched and peeling door in the center. His destination… and the place he most desperately did not want to revisit.

_Do you want to quit? Sure, go ahead. But what about Psych? _**_I don't need it… I can just do something else._**_ But what about Gus? _**_Gus has a job, he'll be fine._**_ Are you so ready to just give it up? _**_I…_**

He couldn't answer that. He didn't want to consider what it would be like to not stride into the station, wheedling for another case to work on. He didn't want to think about packing up the agency, closing up the business, drifting to another pointless job… quitting. It… hurt.

_You know what you have to do._

He did… but oh… it was… so… hard. His hand wanted to recoil from the cool metal knob. Instead, he grit his teeth and turned it, inhaling sharply at the familiar squeak of unoiled hinges. The darkened stairs before him seemed to waver a bit. He closed his eyes, counting to eleven. When he opened them again, his eyes had steadied. But he couldn't move. He just stood there, one hand on the doorknob, the other braced against the frame. It looked like a cavern. It might have been only ten minutes… but it could have been as long as an hour before he finally lifted his left hand and flipped on the switch. It was no shock that the light didn't really help at all. Still, it did seem to loosen something in his knees, because he felt himself moving forward before he was even ready. The creaking of the stairs was nearly enough to undo him. The last time he'd heard that, he'd been running for his life with a monster at his heels.

Thirteen steps, and a door at the bottom. This door was already open slightly, a whisper of cold air rushing through the crack. Shawn was already shivering by the time he stopped in front of this last obstacle. This was, by far, the hardest part. Swallowing back his nausea, he pressed his fingers against the wood. The door opened without a sound. Beyond it, the room was completely black… but even before he flipped the switch, Shawn knew what he would see. As the cool fluorescents blinked on, and his skin took on a bluish tinge, he bit back a cry.

It was moving too fast. The memories suddenly overwhelmed him, and his hands wrapped around his skull as all the horror of that night flooded back.

_Fists striking flesh… taunting insinuations… "Ah, you're finally getting a handle on our game!" _

_Trying to escape, fighting, clawing…_

_"…it all depends on how quickly you can run…" _

_Panting breath… screaming… pain… crushing weight… _

_"I've been thinking about you…"_

_"I've been thinking about you…"_

_"I've been thinking about you…"_

_"I've been thinking about you…" _

Shawn wrapped his arms around his midsection, backing up until he was pressed against the wall. His eyes were wide as he tried to shake off his terror… but it did no good. He felt like he was going to shake himself to bits. The memories wouldn't stop, but continued to ram through his mind, tearing off little pieces of his control one chunk at a time. This was a mistake, he should never have come here! What the hell was wrong with him! He tried to take a step, but he couldn't get his legs to obey. He could barely think… panic was taking over every part of him. Desperately, he raised his eyes to the door… and stopped breathing completely.

Andrew stood before him.

No…

His breath rushed out of him in a strangled cry. No… it's just a dream, it's just a dream…

Andrew started walking forward, and Shawn squeezed shut his eyes. He's not really here… he's just a dream… he's not really here, he's just a dream… he's just a dream… he's just a dream… he's just a dream… he's just a dream…

…And I can prove it.

Eyes still closed, heart hammering madly, he swung out his hand…

And struck flesh.


	10. Something About The Past

Alright alright, I decided to have pity on you guys and post this chapter early!

0o0o0o0o0-0o0o0o0o0

Henry's fingers drummed on the steering wheel. Was it an unwritten rule, that whenever you needed to be somewhere, some idiot had to get into an accident and muck up the whole works? Not that the incident ahead really even qualified for accident status to begin with, it was barely a fender-bender. But it was enough to back up the traffic two miles, and add another level to Henry's aggravation meter.

Morons.

The traffic rolled forward a few more yards, then halted again. Henry had to resist the urge to start jogging his leg up and down. No matter how much stress he might be pressured with, under no circumstances would he start adopting the mannerisms of his son. He's sooner adopt a puppy. Trying to peer around the large trailer in front of him, Henry growled. Shawn better have a good excuse for himself when he found him, because there was definitely going to be hell to pay.

0o0o0o0

He couldn't even scream.

There was no way it was real… he knew Andrew was dead, he'd seen the autopsy report! He knew the man was gone- he had to be…!

A meaty fist wrapped around his first two fingers, crushing them painfully. Shawn's eyes snapped open, and he jerked back with an anguished yelp.

"What the hell are you doing in here…" Andrew started to say… and then paused. "Wait… I know who you are…"

Shawn continued to pant in fear, but the part of his brain that still functioned started tapping furiously. Something was different about the face in front of him… it didn't look exactly like he remembered. The hair was shorter, and a shade lighter… and there were a few more wrinkles across the brow. Also, his body was about ten pounds lighter…

It wasn't Andrew…

The fist holding his fingers tightened even more, and Shawn released a small cry as he used his other hand to try to pry them free.

"I know you… you're that psychic… Spencer, isn't it."

He clawed at the hand that was locked around his own, yelling sharply as his arm was suddenly twisted. The face before him didn't change expression much, but the eyes suddenly blazed.

"You're the little fucker that got Andrew killed."

He never had a chance to dodge as the man's forehead smashed against his own.

0o0o0o0

A hand was tapping him lightly on the cheek when he awoke. Blinking away the spots, he suddenly lunged back at the sight of the face looming over him, instantly regretting it when he collided with the wall.

"Oh… hey, hey, hey… careful now. We can't afford a lot of bruises, it could look a little suspicious." said the man, straightening. Shawn breathed through his nose, shifting his eyes around the room swiftly before taking stock of his own situation. He wasn't tied, which he was immeasurably grateful of. However, it also confused him.

"Aah, noticed I didn't tie you up huh? Come on now, just cause I grew up with Andy doesn't mean I'm gonna be as barbaric as he was."

Shawn curled his fingers, and winced at the shooting pain in his right hand. Looking down, he saw that the two first fingers were swollen and red. Desperately pulling back some control, Shawn nodded at the man. "H-he was your b-brother?" Dammit, he was stuttering already!

The man smiled. "Yeah… my little brother. My name is Fredrick by the way." He held out his hand, and Shawn jerked away, raising his arm in front of himself. Fredrick chuckled. "Oh, right… sorry, guess you had enough of handshakes from me." Straightening, the larger man took a few steps away, towards the closet on the far right wall. Shawn quickly pulled himself to his feet, intending to dart for the door, but stopped when he saw it was closed.

"Yeah… had to lock that. I figured you'd probably try to make a break for it. I mean, go ahead and work the knob… I need some more time to get set up anyhow, so you might as well amuse yourself."

Shawn's head was pounding. There was no way this could really be happening… it just wasn't possible… Desperately, he tried the knob, and found that it was, in fact, locked. He ran his shoulder into the door, hoping maybe he could bust loose the hinges; but before he could hit it a second time, a body rammed him from behind and a pair of arms wrapped around his waist.

He struggled madly, the present overlapping with the past as horrible memories threatened to take over.

"Easy easy, man- I just don't want you to get all banged up!"

The arms released him again, and he stumbled away until he was pressed against the wall once more. _Stop it! Stop freaking out or you won't get out of this! Now concentrate_! He closed his eyes, forcing himself to slow his breathing. He clenched his left hand at his side, the other one hanging limp and throbbing. Fredrick had left his side again, and Shawn could hear him moving about the room, still talking. "Oh, and I'm sorry, bout your cell phone, I'm afraid I had to smash it. I'm not ready for the cops to come busting in until after I leave. Not to mention, you calling for help before they find you would really set them asking questions." Squinting through his lids, he saw the other man standing on top of… he swallowed… a familiar wooden chair. Forcing back the panic before it could freeze him, he quickly looked up to see Fredrick looping a rope over the thickest pipe on the ceiling.

Horrified, he suddenly understood.

_No, no way dude… no chance in hell!_ He started backing away again, sliding along the wall until he was pressed in a corner. Sweat ran down into his eye, and he blinked it away, cradling his injured hand. He could feel himself starting to blank out again, and he fought back valiantly, forcing himself to scan the room again, this time for a weapon.

Fredrick started speaking again. "I gotta say, it was totally a shock finding you here… but I'm really grateful you came on your own. I was having a hell of a time trying to figure out how to get to you, you know? I mean, you got the damn cops driving by your building all the time… your little friend is always around… even your old man. About the only positive thing, is I've gotten to see a lot more of that blonde little hottie with a badge." Shawn felt a rush of anger at that, and his eyes narrowed. Fredrick turned around and caught the look. "Oh… got it… you like her don't you. What, you bangin' her or something?"

Shawn clenched his teeth. "You stay away from her!"

Fredrick laughed. "Nah… I'm not an imbecile like my brother. I don't take what I can pay for." He loomed closer, and Shawn pressed his back into the concrete. The man laughed again, more loudly this time. "Look at you shake! Don't worry, I'm not into guys either…" His hand reached out quickly to trace down Shawn's cheek, "No matter how pretty they are." Shawn made a strangled sound as he whipped his head to the side, trying to push himself right through the brick. Still laughing, Fredrick backed away, then turned to head towards the closet once more. Shawn gripped the wall with one hand as he forced himself out of the corner. He knew, without a doubt, that there had to be a weapon he could use in that closet. But to get to it he'd have to walk right past Fredrick. And there was no way that guy would simply allow him to defend himself. He realized there was only one way he could get out of this… and he really hoped what his father had taught him would be enough to avoid getting the shit beat out of him. He watched the muscles flex beneath Fredrick's shirt. Who was he kidding… this was gonna hurt like hell…

0o0o0o0

Finally! It took another twenty-two minutes, but cars were actually starting to move again. Leaning forward slightly, keeping his eyes on the crawling traffic, Henry snagged his cell phone out of the cup holder where he'd deposited it earlier. Without looking, he hit speed dial three. After two rings, an automated messaging service picked up. "We apologize, but the cellular customer you are trying to reach has their phone turned off or has traveled outside of the coverage area…" He snapped the phone shut again in irritation, and dropped it back in the holder. Dammit Shawn…

The moment his truck was free of the traffic jam, he pressed down on the accelerator.

0o0o0o0

Fredrick still had his back to him. Shawn rose up on his toes a little, then dropped back down, building up the nerve to do what he had to. The bigger man hunched down, retrieving something from a lower shelf. Now! Racing forward, he slammed his shoulder into the other man's back. Fredrick cursed in surprise as his body stumbled forward; his large head striking the middle shelf solidly. Rolling off him, Shawn grabbed for the first weapon he could find, which turned out to be a black and pink whip. Fredrick was already pushing himself upright, so Shawn leaped on his back, pulling the whip tight around his throat. The giant spun quickly, and Shawn had all he could do to hang on. Unfortunately, that placed him between the cabinet and Fredrick. Before he could dodge, Fredrick lunged backward, driving Shawn into the exposed shelves. He gasped out a breathless cry as the middle shelf dug into his back. Several items that had been hanging up were knocked free, and rained down on him as Fredrick stepped forward, allowing him to crumple to the floor. So much for that strategy…

Still trying to catch his breath, he felt Fredrick kneel down beside him. "You know buddy… that… was really, really, stupid. I was doing you a favor you know… I was planning to keep this as painless as possible." A hand wrapped around his bicep, and Shawn tried to jerk away, but the grip only tightened. He heard the man behind him suddenly laugh. "Andrew really was one horny fuck… and, as smart as he was, he still thought more with his balls than his brains… particularly when it came to cute little jailbait boy-toys…" Shawn felt himself yanked to his feet as Fredrick pulled his arms behind his back and started pushing him across the room. "But idiot that he was, he was still family. And don't think, for one minute, that I don't hold you responsible for what happened to him."

Shawn's eyes widened, his feet sliding as he pushed back. "You… what…?"

His right arm was twisted savagely, cutting off his words with a stifled scream. Fredrick leaned closer. "He never had a problem with his playthings before. Even if they got away… he moved on… found something new to play with. But somehow… you got in his head..."

Shawn clenched his teeth furiously, blinking back tears of anger and fear. "Yeah? Well that makes two of us… cause I can't stop thinking about how much I wish '_I_' had been the one to shoot him in the hea…AAAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!" This time, Fredrick had grabbed his two swollen fingers, twisting until he heard a snap.

"I get it now, that big mouth of yours. Just can't keep it shut."

Shawn was about to reply when Fredrick stopped shoving him forward. They were standing below the noose that had been fashioned earlier. Shawn tried to struggle away, feeling the hand on his left arm release, only to feel the pressure of a gun in his back. It was unreal… was Fredrick gonna shoot him if he didn't comply? He suddenly remembered a similar situation, and couldn't help but laugh manically. "D-d-dude… I gotta t-tell ya," he fought back his hilarity as he continued, "F-forcing a guy to h-hang himself at gunp-point never works!" He gave in, consumed by helpless mirth.

Fredrick chuckled behind him. "Oh, this wasn't to force you to do anything. This is just choice two. I figured the least I could do is leave it up to you…"

Shawn's laughter melted instantly, and he blinked rapidly as he stared at the gently swinging rope. "I personally think choice three is more my speed, you know, where you let me go… I was never much of a suicide kinda guy…" His breath hitched as Fredrick tightened his grip on his fingers again.

"Well then I guess it's my choice. I gotta say, I've always been a bit of a traditionalist. Oh, and if you think I'm still worried about the bruises? No problem… the stairs in here aren't the best… you might have just gotten clumsy on your way down." Shawn furrowed his brow. _Wait…_ He felt the gun leave his back, and was just starting to turn his head when Fredrick swiftly wrapped an arm around his throat, speaking softly. "Huh… looks like we might have to put this on hold for a bit…"

Shawn paused in attempt to wrestle the arm free, his head tilted to the side. And then he heard it, filtering down from upstairs… and muffled through the closed door.

_"Shawn...? Come on kid, answer me…"_

"Dad…"

0o0o0o0

Henry wasn't surprised that his son didn't answer. In fact, save for the incident at the hospital, Shawn hadn't spoken another word to him about what had happened. And it wasn't like the kid to talk about what was bothering him anyhow. Conversations between the two Spencer men never did get much deeper than debating the best way to amuse oneself during a stakeout. Actually… that wasn't completely true. Since Shawn had started up his new… 'business', they'd had several discussions that bordered on intense; one of the more memorable being the time Henry had Shawn's deathtrap impounded. The kid had been furious… and, Henry grudgingly admitted, he'd had a right to be. Still… it had been done out of concern… that accident had almost taken Shawn away from him…

Henry moved his flashlight around the darkened room again. Save for a single bedroom and bathroom, both of which he'd checked, there was only one other place Shawn could be. Shaking his head at the kid's determination to do everything he could to get under his skin, Henry strode to the basement door.

Even if it took all night, his son was going to talk to him.

0o0o0o0

The sound of tape ripping from a roll made him inhale sharply. But before he could cry out, a tacky strip was slapped over his mouth, muffling his terror. His panicked mind immediately sought refuge in familiar responses, _did these people stockpile duct tape??_

But even with that thought, the sickening memories threatened to take over, echoing in his brain. _"I suggest you keep your eyes down… or lose them."_ More ripping sounds, and his hands were bound before him. _"Trust me, I can be far more creative than that."_He was shoved to the floor, and he felt a heavy boot press into his back. The cement was cold, and he clenched his teeth in pain as his own body compressed his broken fingers. Two feet away was the door to the stairs. Fredrick had positioned them so that they'd be behind it when it opened. Shawn struggled vainly, trying to work himself free, but the bigger man just ground his boot down crushingly. He heard the squeak of the stairs.

_"Shawn?"_

_"**AAAAHHHDD!!!"**_ He tried to scream, but the sound wouldn't carry. A violent kick to the side stole his breath, and he had all he could do just to breathe. The doorknob turned slowly, and Shawn tried to cry out a warning, but couldn't do more than groan. Above him, Fredrick shifted, raising his gun. _NO!_

The door pushed open a few inches. "Shawn? Hey kid, come on- I know you're here, I saw your car outside…"

He saw his father's shadow on the floor. He sensed the movement above him as Fredrick leveled his weapon. _No!_ _**NO!**_ Twisting his body, he hooked one leg around Fredrick's right knee and jerked. The man yelled, stumbling as his weapon discharged. In the same moment, Shawn heard grunt as someone behind him crashed to the floor. He didn't have time to look, though, because Fredrick was already surging to his feet with an inarticulate scream of rage. Lunging, he struck Shawn just as he was halfway to his feet- driving both of them into the cement wall. Gasping, Shawn brought up his bound hands between them to claw at the other man's throat. Fredrick responded by grabbing Shawn's wrists and driving a knee into his gut. Shawn felt his grip loosen, and he fell hard, coughing in pain. He opened his eyes… and stared. Fredrick's gun was six inches away. The bigger man was coming for him… and Shawn felt his mind starting to slip. _NO, no… not again… not now…!_

_"I've been thinking about you…"_

_Hot breath panted in his ear… hands clawed at him… pulled at him… he was helpless… he wasn't going to win…_

_"**NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"**_ He screamed through his gag. Lunging forward, he felt his fingers close around the weapon.

Andrew was standing over him, grinning as his hands drifted to his waistband. _"I've been thinking about you Shawn… I've been thinking about you… and I'm going to have you…"_

Shawn rolled on his back and pulled the trigger.


	11. Can't We Go Back To Just Talking?

The sound of a gunshot jarred him awake.

When he'd first opened the door, he thought he'd heard something… scuffling… and the sound of muffled words… _no, not words… screams…_ He'd spoken, but before he could take one step into the room, there had been an explosion, and something blazed across his left arm, throwing him to the floor where his head met the concrete. He'd been lying there, half dazed, when the second shot sounded. Something kicked alive in his brain as his parent instincts reasserted themselves. _Shawn…_

"Shaaaawn…" He attempted, rolling to the side, gasping as his arm burned. He could hear harsh breathing, and he blinking furiously as he pushed himself off the floor. He stopped while still on his knees.

"Shawn!"

The kid was on his back, breathing rapidly through his nose, holding a gun in hands that were bound in tape. In front of him, swaying slightly, was another man. As Henry staggered to his feet, the man took a hesitant step forward, and Shawn pulled back the hammer on the gun.

"Shawn, no!" Shouted Henry, taking a step closer.

The gun barely twitched, and Shawn's eyes remained locked on the man before him. It was as though he hadn't heard Henry at all. For his part, the other man started to smile, his eyes glancing to the side at Henry. "You got a good-lookin' kid… I can see why my brother liked him…"

_"Brother?!"_ Henry took another step, his fingers curled. "Get away from my son you bastard…" He said quietly, shaking in fury. The man only chuckled.

"You gonna tear me limb from limb Pop? I'm not the one that tried to screw your little boy… that guy is dead. Naw… I was just trying to help him. He came here on his own." He looked down at Shawn, still smiling. "I mean, look at him. He doesn't even know where he is right now. The poor guy can't even aim… unless he was _**trying**_ to hit my wall…"

Henry's eyes flicked to Shawn again, who's arms were starting to shake. "Kid…" Nothing. Not even a change in breathing to show that he knew his father was there.

"You sure you want to be here for this? I mean… this is probably gonna get ugly soon… and I don't think Shawny-boy would be comfortable with his dad watching him crack up completely…"

_"**YOU TOUCH MY SON AND I'LL KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!"**_

Shawn twitched, and Henry's eyes jerked to the floor. In that same moment, the big man lunged.

0o0o0o0

His hands were shaking… Dammit, he couldn't aim! _Breathe… just breathe…_ That first shot should have hit dead center, but at the absolute last second… he'd jerked his arms to the side, and the bullet had impacted the wall. _Why can't you just kill this monster!? He deserves it! He hurt you, you deserve some payback!!_ But… but another voice besides his own was speaking… _'Never draw your gun in anger… Just because I'm showing you how to use it, doesn't mean I want you to, do you understand son…? That was a great shot kid, now let's see if you can do that without killing your suspect…'_ He'd been fifteen when his dad first showed him how to use a gun. Granted, it only held rubber bullets… but the power behind it… He'd actually been so startled he'd dropped the weapon.

Andrew chuckled down at him. "You sure you want to be here for this? I mean… this is probably gonna get ugly soon… and I don't think Shawny-boy would be comfortable with his dad watching him crack up completely…"

Wait… what…? That sounded wrong… like he wasn't talking to Shawn at all… but to his… dad…?

_"**YOU TOUCH MY SON AND I'LL KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!"**_

Shawn gasped through the tape on his mouth. DAD! Something flickered in Andrew's eyes… _wait, not Andrew… Fredrick… it was Fredri…_

In that second, Fredrick hurled himself at Shawn.

0o0o0o0

Henry had no time to react as the larger man threw himself at his son, his hands wrestling for the gun. The weapon discharged a third time, missing both men and kicking up a shower of mortar and pulverized concrete where it dug into the wall.

"Shawn!" He wanted to leap in, to help his son, but the way the gun was waving between them… Instead, he ran across the room, still clutching his arm, towards the pile of litter at the base of an open cabinet. As soon as he saw what made up most of the clutter on the floor, he curled his lip in disgust. _What sort of sick… _Shawn made a muffled shout behind him, and he grabbed the top shelf of the cabinet, wrenching it loose with a strained squeak of pulled nails. Turning back around, he could see that Fredrick was quickly winning, his larger bulk and better angle overcoming the smaller man. Racing forward, Henry raised the shelf and brought it crashing down on the big man's skull.

0o0o0o0

Fredrick grinned savagely as his hand locked around the weapon. Shawn could barely breathe from the weight of the other man crushing him. Struggling, he tried to wrestle back control, only to feel a fist bury itself in his side. He shouted, but the sound was killed by the tape. Fredrick chuckled, leaning in closer as he roughly twisted the gun out of Shawn's weakened fingers, his breath hot and foul. "I think, maybe, I will have some fun with you after all…" In that moment, there was a meaty_ THUNK_, and Fredrick slumped bonelessly across Shawn's chest.

Still trying to breathe, Shawn squirmed back, pushing at the dead weight with his bound hands. Another pair of hands joined his, and he flinched briefly before recognizing the thick fingers. _"aaahhd?"_ Fredrick's body rolled away, and his father reached out to gently peel the tape from his mouth. "I got you son." The bindings on his wrists were removed next, and he rubbed at the sore flesh, conscientiously avoiding his damaged fingers.

"You okay kid?"

He started to smile… _no problem… he was great… _but just couldn't manage it. Instead, his shoulders hunched, and he clenched his teeth. In seconds, he felt his dad's arms encircle his shoulders, and his control finally broke.

Dropping his head, he cried.

0o0o0o0

Henry had called the cops from the comfort of the truck. When they arrived, ten minutes later, they found a groggy Fredrick Drayton bound with duct tape at the bottom of the basement stairs. He was sporting a sizable lump on the back of his head.

Shawn stayed in the truck as the man was led from the house, his arm gripped tightly by a very pissed off Carlton Lassiter. Patting Shawn on the shoulder, Henry gave his son a quick look. "I'll be right back, you going to be okay?" Shawn nodded, cradling his right hand in his lap. Dipping his head once in response, Henry slid from the vehicle and approached the tight group of officers surrounding the suspect. Shawn couldn't hear what was said, but he gaped when Henry suddenly pulled back his fist and smashed it into Fredrick's teeth. The man's head rocked back, and even from here, Shawn could see the blood running down his chin. The whole time this was happening, Lassiter seemed to be fascinated with something on the ground… as did the other officers present. As soon as Henry stepped away again, the head detective straightened, shoving the bleeding man to his unmarked squad car.

When Henry pulled open the truck door again, he glanced over at Shawn's face.

"I guess he slipped." Turning to eyes forward, he slipped his key in the ignition. Using one arm, he pulled the truck around, then started for the man road.

"You know, I'm going to suggest they give us a lifetime pass to the ER."

Shawn barely managed a shrug, letting his head drop back until it rested against the padded seat. "Just wake me when we get there."

0o0o0o0

One week later.

"I still don't think this is fair."

Dr. Kroger crossed his arms. "It's only four more days. And I must admit, you're making excellent progress."

Shawn twitched in his chair, pushing out his lower jaw stubbornly. He should have guessed they'd force him to make up the sessions he'd missed, even though he'd tried to convince them that he'd technically been participating in therapy when he'd gone back to that house. And, in all honesty… it had helped. That first night in his own bed, he hadn't dreamt at all. It had been amazing to wake up without the ever-present cloud over his mind… he could hardly remember a time when he'd felt so… awesome…

He'd been given a week's reprieve to recover from his injuries, and then it was announced to him that he'd have to finish his sessions.

He stood by his opinion on that one.

By the second session, he wasn't dreading them so much anymore. And he only had one dream that night… a small one. Though some of the fear was still there… as well as the reluctance… he was actually able to talk now without a complete meltdown.

The third day came and went. And if anyone asked, he hadn't blubbered during that session… that was hayfever.

By the last day, he was actually able to produce a genuine laugh, though Kroger didn't seem to find the changes to his answering service nearly as amusing. Shawn couldn't see why not… and it was actually helpful. Giving the options for clients to press a number based on their malady was brilliant in his mind… if one could overlook the terminology. Okay, so was it his fault he didn't know the names of the different mental disabilities? He thought it was pretty straightforward the way it was.

"You've come a long way Shawn."

He looked up from examining the brace around the fingers of his right hand. Kroger was looking at him intently.

"Does this mean I get a green lollipop?"

Kroger smiled. "No… but you might still like what I am offering you. I'm recommending to Chief Vick that you be cleared to take cases again."

Shawn swallowed… not realizing until now how desperately he'd been hoping to hear that. However, instead of jumping onto the seat of his chair and leaping up and down, he smiled brightly. "Do I get a sparkly badge or something? Ooo, how about a certificate?"

Kroger stood raising his arm. "How about a handshake."

Grinning, Shawn stood as well, awkwardly extending his left hand. He didn't trust his voice at the moment, so he just pinched his lips together tightly, nodding with shining eyes. The therapist nodded back, his eyes soft.

"Congratulations Shawn."

0o0o0o0

Adrian Monk was standing in the waiting room when Shawn emerged. Natalie put down her magazine when he appeared, standing as well.

"So… what did Dr. Kroger say?" She asked, her brow furrowed.

Shawn tilted his head. "He likes my shirt… but he thinks my hair needs some work. Actually, I was forced to agree with him on that, I just can't get the right lift in this city… something to do with the elevation I think…"

"Mr. Spen… Shawn… oh for cripes sake!"

He grinned at her flustered agitation. "I passed."

She squealed, enveloping him in a hug. "Oh thank god!" She cried, squeezing him tightly. Over her shoulder, Adrian gave him a small smile, using one hand to block the over-exuberant emotional display of his assistant.

Finally Natalie released him, still smiling hugely. "That's so wonderful, I'm so happy for you!"

He lifted his brows. "Really… how happy would that be?" He whimpered as her hand smacked his shoulder.

Adrian seemed to be searching for the right words. "I'm.. um… well you… I guess you…" Finally, apparently giving up on that avenue, he hesitantly raised his right hand, curling it into a fist.

Shawn's grin felt like it would split his face.

Lifting his own hand, laughing with glee, he met Adrian's fist with his own.

He was going home!

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

A/N: In respect of the giving nature of this holiday season, I shall be Santaish and upload this for you. And keep an eye out, for we still have the epilogue!!


	12. Do You Remember, When You Were Young?

_Santa Barbara, 1984 _

_Golden sunlight bathed the water, sending back brilliant sparkles as the sky faded towards dusk. In the small boat, a man and his son sat, poles hovering over the water. Suddenly, the boy's pole jerked, and he sat back in surprise. _

_"Dad… I think I got one!" _

_The father leaned forward quickly, setting down his own pole on the bottom of the boat. "Okay Shawn, remember what you learned. Pull back on the pole, then reel down, you don't want to give him any slack." _

_The boy strained, pulling at the bowed rod. "He's too big!" He gasped, his knuckles white. _

_His father shook his head. "No chance. Come on kid, you can do it… I know you can, you just gotta keep fighting…" _

_The boy squeezed shut his eyes, reeling down as he was instructed, then pulling back on the rod again. "Guuuuuaaaahh!" He said through clenched teeth. _

_"You almost got him son, come on, one more pull!" _

_Sweating with effort, arms shaking with strain, Shawn gave one last mighty yank. Lunging forward, his father scooped the fish from the water. It was gigantic! Shawn had never seen something so big! The creature flopped as his father worked the lure from its mouth. "Sea bass, very nice kid! These are a delicacy you know." _

_Shawn felt his grin start to slip. He stared at the fish, its gills flapping open and shut as it fought to breathe, and was suddenly sad. It was… beautiful, its scales gleaming sliver, with thick dark bands running vertically down its sides. The golden fins curled, casting back the light of the setting sun. _

_"I don't want to kill him…" said the boy softly. _

_His father gave him an odd look. "Shawn… son, what are you talking about…" _

_"Please?" He interrupted, placing a hand on the fish's cold side. "Please, I want to let him go." _

_There must have been some intensity in his gaze, because his father smiled softly, shaking his head. "Okay kid… I guess it's your call. Here, I'll help you release him." _

_Leaning over, he held the thrashing fish until Shawn could get his hands around its body. Then, both of them together, leaned over the side of the boat and eased it into the ocean. With a single tail flick, sending a splash of water back into their faces, it was gone. _

_Shawn couldn't keep away his smile. _

_He felt his father sit down next to him on the flaking bench, and he looked up to see the old man holding out his hand. Curiously, he extended his fingers. Henry placed the lure in his hands. "You did great today son, I don't want you to forget that. It was hard… but you beat him in the end… didn't you." _

_Shawn examined the lure, realizing he wouldn't be using it again. This last foray into the deep had broken one of the hooks. "I guess." He replied, dropping the lure into his tacklebox. He looked up at the darkening horizon… wondering if Gus wanted to play video games later. "Dad… can we go home?" _

_His father dropped a hand on his head, ruffling his hair in that really irritating way of his… ewww, and it was covered in fish slime! _

_"Sure kid." _

_Slipping to the back of the boat, his father started the ancient motor. After a few seconds of shuddering and shaking, the Evinrude roared to life. _

_Turning their back to the ocean, Henry gunned for the shoreline. _

_Shawn couldn't wait to tell his best friend about this, mostly because he knew if he exaggerated about how messy it was, it would make Gus sick. _

_He smiled lightly, slipping to the floor to get out of the wind. It felt great to be going home again. _

_Behind them, the sky slowly faded to black._


End file.
